Broken Silence
by out.of.sea.into.woods
Summary: Wisteria Greenwood is the daughter of two apocathary owners, raised in a world of soft comforts and ease. In her 16th year, she meets Rodrick Everdeen of the Seam, a poor boy destined for the coal mines. The two fall into a strange relationship that starts with Wisteria's promise: I will never marry Rodrick Everdeen.
1. Ch 1 - At First Glance

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 1

_At First Glance_

The warm fabric of my dress keeps my body heat wrapped around me, despite the autumn chill. Lily twirls down the street, her skirt flying around her.

"Stop that." I tell her, grabbing her hand and holding her still. She makes a face at me.

"You're no fun anymore, Wisty."

I scowl as best as I can. "Don't call me that. My name is Wisteria."

"Whatever." She pulls her hand out of my grip and runs off, giggling and hopping down the worn path. In the distance, I hear a dull bell ringing, signaling the end of the shift at the mine. No doubt, my mother is already cleaning up the apothecary shelves for the customers who will no doubt come in for their aches and pains of the day.

Welcome to District 12. Where each day is like the last.

Right now, we're walking from school to home. It would be quicker if we went right through the poor part of town, known as the Seam, but my mother doesn't approve of young ladies like me and my sister walking unaccompanied in the slums of our district and, frankly, I don't disagree. The dirty house and the dirtier people who stare out of them disgust me. Children running around in rags and covered in dirt and who knows what else. They are animals, no better.

When we get to the shop, Mother is pouring hot tea into cups for us. Lily grabs hers, along with a beautifully iced cookie, and scampers off.

"Good afternoon, Wisteria."

"Good afternoon, Mother."

"How was school?"

"Very good, thank you."

"You're welcome."

This has been my relationship with my mother since puberty. I think that deep down, she believes the icy stance she puts on towards me will drive me to find my own family, to leave the house and do very well on my own. Really, it just breaks my heart a little.

I go to the back and put on my apron to start working in the shop. As I straighten various jars and containers of crushed, pounded, dried, and preserved herbs and plants, my mother surprises me with a comment.

"Wheaton Mellark dropped off these cookies right after school." I glance over at my mother and she's holding a plate of cookies, like the one Lily took. They're beautiful, depicting flowers and animals and various wonders in various colors. But not so wonderful that they deserve to be mentioned in a rare mother-daughter conversation.

"They're beautiful."

"He asked me how you were faring now that the weather has taken a turn for the cool. He knows how you prefer the summer."

I raise an eyebrow. "How would he know that? And why would he care?"

Mother sighs. "Oh, Wisteria. What am I to do with you?"

I bite my tongue as to not reply. A few customers make their way in and the work day begins. I advice middle-aged soup maker Laurie Sae, who apparently is coming into the unfortunate nickname Greasy, that a simple brew of a few herbs, honey, and fresh milk will help soothe her sore throat. I help Mr. Sladrien, one of my teachers, pick out what ointment will stop his hair loss. I try and lose myself in this work but really, it takes no effort. It's like running on autopilot. What I dream of doing is following in my father's footsteps. He's a real doctor, operating and examining people and brewing up special concoctions for their problems. I helped him when I was younger and he praised my inborn talent, but my mother put me in the apothecary because a lady does not busy herself with dirty, sick people and blood and other less then pleasant sides to the business.

The door opens and, when I see who enters, my face splits into a smile. My father. I run over and wrap my arms around him.

"Daddy!"

"Oof!" He pretends to be winded. "Wisty, I can barely breath."

"_Wisteria_."

"Ah yes, what was I thinking? Wisteria is that other daughter I have, much more pleasant and pretty than this one." He smiles at me and kisses my cheek. "How was school, my dear?"

"Fine, it was fine." I say quickly. "Did you have any cases while I was gone?"

Daddy opens his mouth to respond but Mother yells, "Sequoya, I need you in here, dear!"

He rolls his eyes for me and goes to the living room, weaving around some people investigating some bottles of coltsfoot.

Our house is weirdly set up. Who knows who owned it before our family, because the setup is very particular for a shop owner. There's the main store, with a big open window in the front. Connected to the side is a narrow storage room we all call the backroom. Our living room door is adjacent to the backroom. There's one window, an old saggy couch, a dull T.V., two small chairs, and a stairway that leads to the upstairs where all the rooms are. Connected to the living room is a small kitchen with a stove, a sink, and a small refrigerator.

The rest of the day passes slowly. Eventually, somewhere around 5 o'clock, we close shop and retire to the living room for dinner. Mother serves us a flavorful soup with something like chicken and bay leaves, which we eat in silence. Occasionally, Daddy and I happen to lock eyes and we share a smile. Mother and Daddy sit in the chairs, not sharing so much as a glance. Lily and I are on the couch, one on each end. In between us, there is still a small indentation where Oak use to sit.

The memory of my brother brings tears threatening to break over my eyes. So I'm glad when someone knocks and I volunteer quickly to go answer it. In the trip from my seat to the door, I try and compose myself with a few, slow breaths.

I open the door and begin to say, "I'm sorry, we're closed" but the visitor surprises me. Standing on my doorstep is Rodrick Everdeen, holding an open bag with dead turkeys and squirrels in it. There are a few leaves stuck in his straight black hair that tell of his illegal trip into the woods. He goes to my school, is even in a few of my classes, but I've never had a conversation with him. No doubt, he's handsome enough to grab attention, but he's from the Seam. I could never be around someone from there. The fact that he's so close to my house kinda grosses me out a little.

"Hey, is your father home?" He says like we're old friends and he simply showing up for an appointment.

"Why? What do you want with him?" My response comes out ruder than I wanted it to and his face hardens.

"Because, Ms. Greenwood, I have some of my haul to sell to him." He holds up his bag for me to inspect.

"Get that away!" I step back. "That's disgusting! And illegal. I guarantee you that we don't do business with lawbreakers."

"Right." He says sarcastically. "Listen, if you can just get your dad-"

"Ah, Rodrick!" My dad is behind me, his voice hushed but happy.

"Daddy, I-"

"Here you go, young man." Daddy hands him over a fistful of coins and is given two plump birds and a squirrel.

"Daddy!" I say, shocked.

"What?" He says innocently. "You didn't really think that soup was chicken."

They both laugh while I blush. Yes, I actually did think that it was. I expect Daddy to dismiss the ruffian now that his black market business is over. But they stand and chat for a few minutes, talking about the weather and town gossip. And I'm awkwardly stuck in the middle, in no position to escape.

Finally, I try and say, "Daddy, maybe-"

"Ah, come on. You'll probably end up marrying this fellow anyway." They share a laugh and Rodrick has the nerve to sneak a kiss on my cheek and they go into a spree of laughter.

My cheeks burn like fire. As I stare at my Daddy and Rodrick laugh over our prospective marriage, I make a promise to myself.

I will never marry Rodrick Everdeen.


	2. Ch 2 - The Assignment

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, filthy peasant.**

CHAPTER 2

_The Assignment_

"Wisty, help me!"

The walls are all choking me, falling down and filling my lungs. A shout goes up from my throat but nothing resounds.

"Wisty, save me! Save me!" I see him, barely, out of the corner of my eyes. His blue eyes wide with fear, it's Oak, choking of black dirt. He begins to glow with painfully bright and then explodes, sending me flying.

I jackknife awake, sweat making my nightgown cling to my thin frame. My heart races and I'm clutching my bedding with a death grip. The last, dark pieces of dream crowd the corners of my vision. Lily is sleeping soundly beside me, not the slightest bit disturbed by my nightmares.

I was seven when Oak went into the mines on his 18th birthday. I remember that year vividly. Lily had just turned three that August and, when we should have been happy, we were starving. It was one of the only times I could remember ever being in need of something. I can't remember why we were struggling. I think it was a change in the rules that forced people to hire the official doctor of the district, instead of using our home remedies. I was only a child, all I knew was that my brother was gone all day and came home tired and unhappy.

Oak was always so full of life. Energetic and lively, he could send an entire room into sprees of laughter after uttering only a sentence. He wasn't a great healer, but he was very gentle and loving to those in pain. When he went into the mines, it was like the life was slowly sucked out of him. Each day, he came home paler and thinner, the bags under his eyes getting darker with each day. He was not built for that kind of work, not like the boys from the Seam. No amount of herbs could heal the wounds on his hands from his mistakes while searching for coal, could soothe his sore back from bending over all day, could cure his nightmares of being buried alive.

One day, he simply did not come home from work. We were soon informed that the mayor of District 12 regretted to inform us of the death of Oak Greenwood, caused by a terrible mining accident. Mother wept profusely while Daddy stared at the floor with glassy eyes. The seven year old me was only confused, holding a squirmy Lily who protested being held like a baby. I believed that they were only hiding Oak away from me, that he would be back and surprise me and we would laugh about the great joke he played on me.

I waited for a week before I understood.

I get up from bed, careful not to jostle Lily awake, and head for the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down fast. Outside, the sun is breaking over the houses and trees. The orange rays are weak, but filter through the branches beautifully.

I head back for bed and pretend to be asleep until Mother informs us a few hours later that it's time to get ready for school. Lily and I dress quickly and leave in silence. The roads already have a great crowd awake and moving. The mine workers, headed to the early shift. Leaves and garbage clutter the drains, filling the air with decay.

School is everything that is gray and monotone. I don't even think I've learned anything these past years. Everything we do is linked to coal and coal production, something I will never have to worry about. The road marked for me is one of marriage and, if all else fails, running the apothecary.

At lunch, I sit with my friends, Maysilee and Margret Donner. They could be my sisters, with their blonde hair and blue eyes and ivory skin. But from what I've been told, the Donner twins do not have the extraordinary beauty I posses. I don't believe it, I think they're really pretty. Maysilee is much more adventurous than Margret, more extrovert. Margret is quiet and sweet, but totally reliant on her sister to defend her from the harshness of reality.

Sitting with us is Corren Undersee, a serious boy who's sweet on Margret. Next to him is Wheaton Mellark, the son of the baker. No doubt, he'll inherit the business after his father, as will his son inherit it from him. There's also Diane Felton, an unpleasant girl who's father owns the candy shop. She had lank brown hair and eyes the color of weak tea. Her voice is harsh and loud, but I try and be kind to her because she doesn't have that many friends. It would be easier if she was quiet more often.

"Why would she wear _that_ to school?" Diane says, her voice all nasal and annoying. "Is she trying to look like Seam _trash_?" She's staring at a girl wearing a dress that has been mended several times.

"Her father was in the store last week." I say quietly. "Her mother is down with the flu and they've had to cut back to manage their expenses."

Diane snorts. "Doesn't mean she has to force us to look at that."

"Just like you don't have to force us to look at your _face_." Maysilee whispers under her breath. We lock eyes and begin to giggle at the stupidity of her comeback. Margret, who heard as well, makes her own demure laugh. Corren, unsure of what's funny, chuckles while Diane and Wheaton just stare at us.

Suddenly, Margret stops laughing, leans over the table, and whispers to me, "Rodrick Everdeen is staring at you."

I instantly freeze and look over my shoulder to where all the Seam kids eat. Sure enough, there he is, his handsome face turned to me, a cheeky grin plastered on. He's sitting with a girl and another guy, both Seam. I have a class with the girl, I think her name is Hazelle. She's holding hands with the other guy under the table. A rush of blood warms my cheeks, I don't know why. I turn around quickly and pretend I didn't see him.

"Why would _he _stare at _you_?" Diane says obnoxiously.

"I don't know." I look down into my food.

"Is he giving you trouble?" Wheaton says, face flushing with anger. "Do you need our help? Cause we can talk to him if-"

"No!" I shout, frustrated. The cafeteria goes quiet for a second, making me blush even more. "I don't even know him," I whisper quietly. It's a lie, of course, but it satisfies them enough to leave me alone for the rest of lunch, though Maysilee gives me a doubting look.

When the bell rings, I rush to my next class: Government. Mostly, we just get retaught about the many blessings the Capitol as given to us, how we are in debt to them, how we deserve any "injustice". I can't really pay attention because I'm painfully aware of Rodrick, sitting a few seats over from me. So when the teacher announces a partner project on the benefits the Capitol has given to us, I'm only half listening. Until...

"Ms. Greenwood, you'll be working with Mr. Everdeen."

Of course, of course this would happen. Because my life is full of irony. What makes it worse is his stupid grin as he slides into the seat next to me. The teacher keeps listing off partners but I can barely focus on anything but how much I hate this, how much I'd rather be anyone but me.

"So," Rodrick says when the teacher tells us to discuss the project. "What should we do it on?"

I look at him with the most withering look I can muster. "Listen, I'll just do all the work as long as you leave me alone. Okay?"

He laughs. "Wow, that's funny. You're trying to be angry. That's cute." This makes my face turn red, which makes him laugh until the teacher starts glaring. Rodrick makes an innocent face and turns back to me. "But seriously, what should our project be?"

"Seriously, I'll do the work."

"No, no, this won't do." He pretends to be offended. "What would that do to my academic integrity?"

Confused, I say, "You're worried about your academic integrity?"

He stares at me. "Either you're really stupid, or your friends don't use sarcasm that much."

"I am not stupid!"

He smiles and I have to catch myself before I follow his example. There's something so cool and relaxed about the way he slouches in his chair, how his uniform shirt is wrinkled and untucked, how his long, black hair is carelessly pushed out of his eyes.

I decide that maybe this project will actually take some collaboration and try and put effort into it. We start brainstorming ideas, jotting them on scrap sheet of paper. Rodrick is surprisingly bright, full of enthusiasm and ideas. It would be easier to understand him if he didn't act so stupid all the time.

"Maybe you should come over to my house after school so we can work on this." He says casually. His suggestion shocks me.

"Go to _your_ house?" I ask. "In the Seam?" He looks at me, his gray eyes stormy. Obviously, I've struck a cord and I try to look away.

"It might not be perfect," He says, his voice harder than usual. "But it's home."

"Maybe we should meet at my home?" I suggest.

He raises an eyebrow. "You think your parents would approve of me being in your house?"

Well, we can toss that idea. The idea of Rodrick, so electric and carefree and bold, standing in my neat little house under the disapproving gaze of my mother almost makes me laugh.

"Your house. After school." I confirm. He smiles and begins to iterate some directions, which I can't understand because I've never set foot in the Seam, but I'm guessing I can manage. I can't tell if he's being serious about all this or is planning some elaborate joke on the pretty merchant girl.

After school, I finding Lily outside of the school, talking to a few of her friends. I tap her on the shoulder.

"Listen," I say. "I have to go to a friend's house to work on school stuff, so just tell Mother that I'll be home before dinner."

"Which friend?" She asks.

"Doesn't matter." I mutter and walk away. Lily stands there, confused for a second, then forgets it and turns back to her friends.

I walk beside a huge group of kids on road till I get to the Seam. I start walking much slower, unsure and a little frightened. It's exactly how I pictured it, in total disrepair. Houses as good as a few sticks barely standing. But there's life that I didn't expect. A women with a baby on her hip is putting clothes on a line in her yard. A skinny dog picks among the trash, looking for scraps. An old women sits on her shabby porch, knitting some shapeless article of clothing. A few kids, quick to get home after school, kick a misshapen ball between them, their voices shouting with joy.

Weird, I thought. They have nothing, why do they live like nothing is wrong?

By some miracle, I manage to find Rodrick's house. At least, I think it's his house. They look pretty much the same. I take a deep breath before knocking. Rodrick opens the door, looking a little surprised.

"I didn't think you'd really come." He says.

I make an attempt at being nice and I smile. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No!" He blushes, the first time I've seen him out of sorts. "Um, come in. Please."

The inside of the Everdeen residence is like the rest of the Seam. Dirty, cramped, and dark. There's a women standing over a stove, stirring a boiling pot. I assume she's Mrs. Everdeen. Her belly is swollen with her unborn child. She turns and smiles faintly at me, probably shocked at the thin, pretty, delicate girl of the merchants standing in her home.

"Rodrick," She says. Her voice is coarse but sweet. "Where are your manners?" She waddles over and smacks him on his head. "Invite such a beautiful girl over and give me now warning."

"Ow!" Rodrick reacts, defending his cranium from any other attacks. I laugh and decide that I like Mrs. Everdeen.

"My name is Juliana. I'm Roddy's mother." She holds out her hand and I shake it. Her palms are roughened by hard work but are warm.

"Hello, Mrs. Everdeen. I'm Wisteria Greenwood."

"Ah!" She exclaims. "A healer! Good job, Roddy." She winks at him. "Bring home a friend who's useful for a change."

"I aim to please." Rodrick gestures me to sit down on one of the shabby chairs. As my weight falls into the seat of the chair, it groans and squeaks. Besides the stove, there's a small fireplace, a table with one leg shorter than the other, three chairs, and two small doorways leading into what I assume are their bedrooms.

"So," Juliana starts. "How do you know Roddy?"

"We have a class together." I say, trying to be nonchalant when I brush the dirt off the table.

"Hm. He's never mentioned you before." She stops stirring her pot long enough to stare at us both. "You two aren't getting married, are you?"

Before I can get embarrassed, Rodrick starts laughing and I surprise myself by laughing too. The fact that both of our parents have foretold the same impossible prophecy is hysterical. Juliana pauses a moment before laughing too.

"Okay, okay." She concedes. "I had to make sure. I never know what Roddy's doing nowadays and suddenly he shows up with a beautiful girl? His charms aren't _that_ good yet."

We laugh again and she goes back to cooking. Even though the Everdeens have so little, their family is so much warmer than mine, more like a home than a house. Me and Rodrick talk a little about the project, but not much. Mostly we just talk about the weather and town gossip and I slowly learn more about their family. Rodrick is very loving of his mother, tenderly teasing her and complimenting her on how well she looks and helping her with the meal as much as he can. He's pretty useless in the kitchen, though, so she mostly makes him sit down and not move.

After a while, I ask, "Will Mr. Everdeen be coming home from the mines soon?" I'm met by a thick silence. I instantly decipher this and look into my lap, blushing.

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't be, Wisteria." Juliana says. I look up and, while there's a trace of grief, there is not anger. "There's no way you could have known." I look over to Rodrick. He's look intently at the table, his finger tracing the grain in the wood.

"My husband died a few months ago." Juliana goes on. "A mining accident." She told me not to be sorry but I can only feel pity. No doubt, her husband was her true love, that he completed this little family. And for him to be taken away so brutally, so close to her delivery. I keep quiet for a bit. The tension has dissolved some, but not much.

"Well," I decide. "I think it's best if I head home."

"No, please-" Juliana starts.

"No, I really should go." I get up and give a polite goodbye. Juliana offers to have Rodrick walk me home, it's awfully dark out there, but I leave in a hurry and don't pay her any attention. My heart feels uncertain and awkward. Like I've uncovered some part of Rodrick that only a real friend should know and that only a true friend could be able to comfort. I barely know him, why did I even come to his house? Ugh, I'm so mental and stupid and, ugh, I'm just a stupid privileged girl who has no idea what it's like to lose someone.

Wrong. I _do_ have Oak.

It _is_ dark outside, like inky has spilled and coated the Seam in it's midnight form. The already unfriendly houses of the Seam have been replaced by sinister versions of themselves. Houses seem to glare at me, clothes line strain to choke me, the distant howl of a dog sends fear tickling up my spine. The moon sends dull, gray light that barely lights the night. There's a thick chill in the air and I wrap my arms around myself, scolding myself for not bringing a jacket or something. I walk quickly, but I can barely find my way around the Seam, the streets all strange and unfamiliar.

"Hey, girlie."

I jump at the voice, looking behind me for the speaker. Nothing, just more dark. I walk faster.

"Where you going?" Another voice, different than the first.

"Home." I say, feeling very sure that I wanted to get away from here.

"Well," A third voice replies. "Maybe we could take you home."

"Or maybe you could hang out with us somewhere else."

I decide that right now is a good time to get out of there. I break into a run, only to find myself running into the stone-like arms of a stranger. I try to pull myself out of them but they hold me firm. Then there are people all around me, pulling at my dress, my hair, grabbing for me, holding me down.

"Stop, stop!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "Help me! Someone, help!"

"_Shut up_!" But I don't. I keep yelling as loud as I can. But nothing but the night replies. I feel tears spill over my eyes and I let them. The men who have me laugh a little among themselves.

"Hey!"

Rodrick. I let out an audible sound of joy, more warm tears cutting down my face. The men let go of me and I hear it, a scuffle. There has to be at least five of them, but Rodrick fights them all off. I can't see, can only hear a punch or a shout or the impact of a fist against a body. I try to force my eyes to focus, but can only make out shaky forms in the darkness. I end up just shouting for Rodrick to win, to fight, to get them.

As suddenly as it began, it's over. I hear people running away, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the dark. I sit there a moment, blood pounding in my ears. And then there's arms holding me and I know it's Rodrick and I let myself collapse in them, not crying, only making unintelligible sounds. He doesn't talk, only strokes my hair gently.

Finally, he says, "I thought you might need that walk home."

I surprise myself by laughing. I pull back out of his embrace, slip my hand in his, and we're off. We don't speak, at least not with words. The sound of us breathing in unison is enough. In the cold, I press up against his side, finding warmth in his leather jacket. Rodrick seems to know this part of town like the back of his hand and it takes no time before we're walking down streets lighted by the street lamps. But he doesn't leave me there, and I don't want him to.

When we get to my house, we stand outside for a bit. Looking him in the face, I see he has not made it out of the fight with no scars. His lip is busted and his eye will probably be black by tomorrow. I probably should give him some eloquent thank you, something along the lines of, "You saved me from being raped and probably killed, so thank you." But it feels weird, thanking someone you don't really know for saving your life.

"Thanks." I manage.

"Welcome."

I almost laugh at how we barely acknowledge what he's done, barely exchange a word. Something wells up in me and I find myself standing on my tiptoe to give a soft kiss to his cheek. He doesn't say much, but he holds his breath for a second. I step back and, with a small smile, I walk inside.

That feeling that has grown inside me, I can't put a name to it. It's elusive and slips out of my grasp every time I get close. But it isn't love, no, it can't be. I am not in love with Rodrick.

I'm not, am I?


	3. Ch 3 - The Only Way

**I don't own the Hunger Games, butthead**

CHAPTER 3

_The Only Way_

In the end, I did do all the work on the project. As silly as it is, I'm happy about it. It brought me to Rodrick. It's been about two weeks since I went to his house and I feel like we're really good friends. _Friends_, that's all. Every time Maysilee sees us together, she flashes those knowing eyes like she's onto some incredible secret. We're friends, that's it.

In two weeks, I've learned, from watching him talk animatedly during lunch or whispering during class, of the fire in Rodrick, of the fight. He dreams of a day when he won't be enslaved in the Seam, won't be trapped without hope of escape.

"One day, I won't live in a place like this." He says one day.

"But you do." I respond. He doesn't answer me when I say this.

Right now, I'm sitting with Maysilee and Margret their house. While me and Margret lounge on their couch, Maysilee's playing her piano, which in it of itself is a rarity. She plays beautifully and I ignore her offers to teach me. I'd hate to ruin the sound that hovers in the air. Outside, it has started to snow in thick snowflakes that look like feathers.

"So, Corren seems to really like you." I nonchalantly say to Margret. She blushes and doesn't respond, but we all know they're a thing. Maysilee looks up from the keys long enough to smile.

"Mrs. Undersee. It has a nice ring to it." She says. Margret turns an even darker shade of red. I'm in mid-laugh when there's a rapid knock on the door. We don't even get to it in time before a snow encrusted figure bursts through.

"Lily!" I cry out, rushing to my sister. Her cheeks are bright red and her blonde hair is stiff from the cold. Tears and mucus are frozen on her face. "What are you doing out in this weather?"

"Wisty," She says, breathless. "Dad- Needs- You. There's- Something- Wrong. A- A-" She starts coughing. I'm impatient and start shaking her, trying to force the words out of her. "There's a sickness," she finally says. "Green fever."

Something hard grips my heart. Green fever is a deadly flu-like infection that makes the victim feel boiling hot, their lungs aching, their throat like sandpaper. Then the blood comes, mixing with bile as the victim vomits. If that happens, you might as well have the grave dug.

"How many?" I ask, already throwing on my coat. Maysilee and Margret and staring at me, asking me what's wrong. But I don't respond. The world has changed and I'm a women with a mission.

"Three." Lily says. "And there might be more."

I curse under my breath. Three is three too many. I grab Lily's hand and run out in the storm without an explanation. Outside, the snow is accumulating in huge drifts. I can barely see in front of me. The cold is biting, stinging any skin that is exposed. Lily trips every so often and even I have to be careful where I put my feet. Ice hardens certain pieces of snow and make District 12 a minefield.

When we get home, I barely register the panic in the eyes of my Mother, almost push Lily down to get her out of my way, don't throw off any of my soggy, wet clothes. I just run into the living room, where the patients will be. I am right, one is on the couch and the other two are sleeping on mattresses on the floor, no doubt dragged from our rooms. Daddy is standing over on of them, dripping water down their throat. His eyes are the color of despair. There's a certain humming in the air, a kind of vibration. It's the endless coughing, created by just these three people. It's the sound of their dying, slowly.

"Daddy," I start."

"No," He interrupts. "Outside." He shoos me out to the hall. Close up, his face is even more desperate. His forehead is shiny with sweat, his hands are constantly clenching and relaxing, and his hazel eyes are dark.

"Daddy, what's happening?" I whisper, like I'm afraid the sickness will hear and come after us.

"Mrs. Bingley came down with the fever three days ago. Her son caught it soon after. She was barely managing to take care of both of them." He pauses to cough into his hand. "Laurie is the daughter of their neighbor. When she didn't see them for a few days, she checked in on them and brought them here. She's been here every since this morning."

"Why didn't you go to their house?"

"Because I know there will be others and I have to be where they expect me to be." He coughs again, this time a little more violent. I reach for his hand to comfort him and his skin is on fire.

"Oh no..." I breath.

"It's nothing."

"Daddy, you're sick!" My voice starts climbing.

"No, I can't be. I have to... Have to..." He almost collapses but I manage to catch him.

"Daddy, you have to rest." I help him into the living room, letting him lie down next to Laurie on one of the mattresses. "I can take care of you four and anyone else."

"Wisty," He whispers. "Wisty, the- the golden reed...

"Shh." I tell him. "I know what it is. I can find it, I know how to do this." Golden reed is a local remedy for green fever. It's a long, thin plant the color of new leaves. In the summer, the tips are covered in small, fragrant golden flowers. Besides some fancy and expensive medicine from the Capitol, it's the only known treatment for the sickness.

"Wisty..." Daddy presses on, pulling me close. His voice is already turning rough and hard. "Wisty... We don't... We don't have any."

It takes a minute to process his words, and when I understand him, my heart jumps to my throat. My mind starts racing a million miles an hour. Without golden reed, there's nothing I can do for the victims but give them water and hope they die soon. The sickness will spread and, and...

"You," Daddy continues. "You have to go... Go to the woods... To- to get... It."

"But-"

"Rodrick... Rodrick will help you." Daddy's strength seems to leave him and he falls back into the lumpy mattress. I crouch over him, thinking over it all. Rodrick, no doubt, has been in the woods so many times. He'll know where things grow, even in a blizzard. I have to go with him, I can't trust getting the plant with anyone but me.

But... It's the woods.

The woods are suppose to be full of dogs and wolves and tacker jackers and flesh-eaters. Anyone who goes past the fence is doomed to a painful death, we all know that. How can Daddy expect me to do that, to risk my life for a few leaves?

_Because it's what you have to do_, I think. And before I know it, I'm in my room, searching for appropriate clothes to wear in a blizzard. But nothing will do. Everything I own is so frilly and girlie and useless for the one thing I need. So, in my determined state of mind, I venture into Oak's room. It's been almost untouched since his death and dust covers everything. In his closet, I find a pair of skin-tight pants, a thick shirt, and a leather jacket. Tentatively, I smell the sleeve of the jacket, hoping for the last whiff of Oak. Nothing, just old age and dust. Everything is a little big, even now that I'm 18, but I make it work with some cinching and tying. I shove a pair of socks in the toes of Oak's old mining shoes and slip those on too. I braid my hair quickly and, catching my reflection in Oak's dusty shaving mirror, I hardly recognize myself.

As I slip on a pair of gloves while I speed downstairs, Mother is standing at the bottom, hands on her hips, a scared but angry face on.

"You will _not_ go into those woods, young lady." She says.

"Try and stop me." I challenge, sounding so rebellious and revolutionary when all I want is for someone to go in my place.

"Wisteria-"

"Take care of the sick." I command. "I'll be back as soon as I can." And I'm gone without another word.

The cold is meaningless now, the snow is nothing. I'm just running, running as fast as I can, the icy wind like a knife cutting into my lungs. I can't see, but it's like my heart is a compass and I find myself in the Seam in no time. The snow is even worse here, where no one cares enough to plow the snow. In some places, I have to scramble to get over some drifts. When I find myself in front of Rodrick's home, I feel like a I'm run halfway around to world.

I knock frantically and when Rodrick opens the door, looking so blissfully handsome and at ease, I can't help but let the story spill over, along with some tears. I doubt I make any sense, but I manage to get him scrambling, pulling on a threadbare-looking jacket and a pair of worn leather boots. Juliana pulls me in and has me explain what's the matter. As I tell her, I see Rodrick grab a large bag, the same one he had full of game the day we first met.

As soon as I finish, Rodrick grabs my hand and we're gone, violently kicking up snow behind us. He leads me to the fence that surrounds the District. We're told that it's always charged with electricity, keeping the evils out and the people in. However, Rodrick grabs the fence with such confidence that I'm sure it's almost never alive. Still, I have to take a moment before I can touch it.

We shimmy through a small hole in the metal, collapsing on untouched snow. As Rodrick leads me into the woods, he sticks his hand into a log and pulls out a beautiful bow and a quiver full of arrows.

"Where did you get these?" I say, reaching out and touching the feathered ends of the arrows.

"My dad and I made them together." He slips the quiver over his shoulder and strings the bow.

"Is it dangerous out here?"

"It's not safe." He says simply. I pull my arms tightly across my chests, my bones shivering in my skin. We're moving in a few minutes and Rodrick takes me to the places where I tell him golden reed might grow. Marshy, wet land. Maybe a river or pond. But everything is either buried too deep in the snow or dead from the cold.

The woods are a frightening place. The shadows are inhuman, the trees reach and grab for me. Animals howl in the night and I see eyes glinting in the dark. It's darker than death, the moon's light almost entirely blocked by the falling snow. I grab onto Rodrick so tight that I'm sure I'm cutting off his circulation, but he's so steady and calm, it's like he doesn't notice. I trip and collapse in the snow and start to cry, but he's always there to pick me up. Always there to brush the snow off me, to wipe away my tears, to whisper to me how I have to be strong.

Rodrick shows me a place where a river must run during the summer, but there's nothing but snow now. I almost turn back, when I see something. Something small and thin sticking out of the snow. Something in my mind clicks, and I shove my way through the drift, into snow that's up to my waist.

I dig around the protrusions and, yes! Yes! Golden reed, dull and bruised by the ice, but still there. I dig deeper and deeper, and Rodrick is beside me, helping. We find more and I pick as much as I can, not caring that I can't feel my toes or fingers, not caring how runny my nose is, not noticing the horrid sounds of the forest. All that matters is the life giving plants before me. Rodrick is speaking, but I don't pay much attention to his words.

"We did it, Wisty." He seems almost in awe as he's gently placing the leaves in his game bag. "We did it. _You_ did it. You're brilliant, freaking brilliant." I don't understand why he's complimenting me, seeing as he did all the work, but I let him.

When all the leaves are gone, I stand. I've been sitting in the snow for so long, my legs are asleep and cold and I fall. Rodrick catches me and pulls me into his arms, holding me upright.

"Thanks." I murmur. His olive skin is contrasted by the red of his cheeks and his nose. His eyes glisten like storm clouds in the dull light. Snow is caught in his thick hair and eyelashes, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.

You'd think I was prepared for this. You'd think I'd know what it would be like. But I'm completely caught off guard. His lips are warm and soft, pulling in deeper and deeper into his arms. I find myself wrapping one hand around his neck, another cupping his face. Our breathes mingle and form a cloud around us. My heart is pounding so loud, I'm sure he can hear it. Starting at my lips, I feel electricity travel through my veins, making every contact with his body a thousand times more intense. My body is pressed so close to his, I can feel his muscles through his threadbare jacket. I don't think, don't protest. I only lose myself in his lips and in his arms.

After what seems like a lifetime, he pulls away, only a little. Sparks dance across my eyes and the world seems to have stopped. I have nothing to do but stand here and kiss Rodrick Everdeen. So when he tells me we have to get back, I almost think, _To what_? Then I remember.

The trek home is quick and slightly awkward. I grip his hand in fear of the woods, but what once seemed natural and comforting now seems forced and inappropriate. I feel dirty and awful, like I've crossed some kind of line that was never meant to be crossed. We don't speak, just trudge along steadily. We get to my house and I run inside quickly, Rodrick following me, a little unsure.

The three people who I left have grown to ten coughing, suffering victims. Some are curled up on the floor, clutching thin blankets. Mother stands among them, trying the give them water, but her eyes wide with panic. Lily is helping, but there's only so much two people can do.

I pull off my gloves and rub my fingers. There's a lot of work to do. Rodrick stand beside me.

"I'll stay and help." He says, slipping the game back off his shoulder. And no matter what I may or may not be feeling about Rodrick, I know I want him to stay.


	4. Ch 4 - Bittersweet and Strange

**Thanks to everyone for reading this. I'll try and keep it up to date as much as I can.**

**I don't own Hunger Games. So, poop.**

CHAPTER 4

_Bittersweet and Strange_

I can't explain how to treat an epidemic. It's something that's defined in cool rags across a burning forehead, water dripped down a swollen throat. It's shown in a hand griping another, murmurs of a mother escaping one's lips to comfort a man she's never met. It's most acutely shown in the smell of sweet herbs, crushed and distilled into hot water, dissipating into one's body. It's something that goes across all borders.

It takes time to concoct the tea with golden reed. The leaves we got aren't very potent, so I have to be careful with the dosage. But slowly, the life-giving tea is poured down everyone's throats and, for a moment, there is quiet.

But it doesn't end. As soon as someone goes to sleep peacefully, another walks through the door, forehead burning and coughing hard enough to burst a lung. It seems as if the entire District 12 is rotten to the core with green fever.

Rodrick is always there. We never get to stop and talk and for me to beg the question, "Why in the world did you kiss me?" No, it's much to busy for pointless things like that. He's always in the corner of my eye, helping a women lie down on some blankets spread across the floor, telling a funny story to a fussy toddler, holding back the hair of a young women as she feels the need to vomit. Once or twice, our eyes meet and I have to look away, my cheeks burning. With embarrassment, with disgust. And yes, with longing. I'm women enough to admit that. But now's not the time for that.

It takes six days. _Six_. Six days for the sickness to give in under the strength of the golden reed and my will to let my people live. Within that time, Rodrick never goes home. He sends a messenger to his mom, telling her he's safe and she's not to come so that the baby will be safe. But he stays with me, like he promised. Mother may not approve, giving us narrowed glances and refusing to speak to him, but it doesn't matter. With me sleeping in my room and him in Oak's, everything seems okay.

One by one, we see each patient get better and walk out. All but one. Mrs. Bingley, the women who caught the illness from her young son, was taken by the sickness on the third day. It hurts, especially when you have to pull her weeping toddler from her body so that the Peacekeepers can take it to be burned to stop the epidemic. Yeah, it's hard. But you have to make your heart hard to do this job.

On the seventh day, me and Rodrick are boiling the blankets and sheets the sick used. It's funny, this is the first time that we've been alone together, even though we've been living in the same house. Trying not to burn myself from the water, I try and formulate a sentence to explain what I'm feeling.

"Rodrick," I say. "About the thing."

"The thing?" He says, like he doesn't even remember.

"The thing. Ya know," I lean over and whisper. "The _kiss_."

"You do know it's not a dirty word?" He raises his eyebrows at me. He's trying to seem amiable and at ease, but there's something underneath his shell. Hurt. Pain. Like he's expecting me to blow him off, to be disgusted by him because he's from the Seam.

Then something clicks for me. It doesn't disgust me. It doesn't gross me out. I hadn't even really thought about it. I lean back with my new found confidence.

"Well, I was just going to say that, next time, you shouldn't surprise me like that." I say simply. There's a silence as a grin spreads across his face, lighting up the counters of his cheeks with it's glow.

"So, you want there to be 'next time'?" He says mischievously. I shrug mysteriously, but he takes that as a yes. For the next hour, as we silently finish the washing, he's vibrating with happiness. I don't really understand why, but I'm smiling too and I let it happen.

Mother comes in as we're folding the sheets in tight squares. She doesn't come very close, just towers over us condescendingly. She doesn't say a word for a few minutes, but the air is crackling with tension.

"Well," She finally says. "Now that everything has settled down, I think it's time your _friend_ head home. His family must be very worried about him." Her voice is everything that is reasonable and insincere.

"Mother," I say. "Maybe he could-"

"No, Wisteria." She cuts me off. "It's time he left."

I open my mouth to argue, but Rodrick interjects, saying how he really should go back and help his own mother, how happy he is everything turned out mostly good, how he'll be sure to come by if there's anything they need. Mother doesn't respond, only glares at him coldly. He didn't bring anything, so he's just out the door. I'm a little stunned it went down like that. I find myself getting to my feet, running out of the house.

"Rodrick," I stop him before he's gone. "I-"

"I'll see ya at school, okay?" His voice is sweet and he takes my hand into his. The flesh of his hand in scarred by the forests and hardened by the strength of them. I smile at him and nod. With a soft squeeze of my hand, he's gone quietly and slowly.

The pattern of my life has taken a dramatic shift. Like I was viewing the world through hazy glass and then Rodrick came and shattered that glass. Everyday, we meet outside the school building, just to say good morning. Then there's school. Or maybe I can't call it that. I just take notes and stay quiet and wait for the bell to ring.

At lunch, me and Rodrick sit together, merging our two friend groups. Diane was rude and obnoxious and Wheaton doesn't say much, but everyone else goes out of their way to be nice. Margret seems a little nervous, like the people from the Seam are diseased or something, but Maysilee tries her best to compensate. Hazelle, Rodrick's friend, was a little standoffish, but she opened up and she's nice enough. Her boyfriend, Ian, could be Rodrick's brother, but he's much more introverted compared to Rodrick's electric energy and charming ease.

After school is my favorite, though. Rodrick hunts right after school, with me waiting impatiently at the store. He comes back, bringing rare herbs and plants for the store. But he's really there for me. He brings me berries and wildflowers or a long, jagged feather or a leaf curled into an impossible shape. I start keeping these momentos in a small box that I hide deep under my bed. A part of me feels bad about all the attention. Juliana no doubt needs help around the house, needs support with the baby coming soon. But whenever I bring it up, Rodrick shrugs it off, saying he's got it handled and I shouldn't worry about it.

Mother suspects us, no doubt. She searches my room and my things, no doubt. She goes out of her way to stop us, ordering me on long trips to town or grounding me to my room for no apparent reason. But Daddy does his best to outwit her. Surprisingly, he approves of Rodrick, probably because he's smug because his prediction seems to be coming true.

On Sundays, whenever I can, I sneak out, wearing Oak's clothes, and meet Rodrick by the fence. Each day, we explore the woods a little at a time. Nothing extreme, more like little walks. Meandering along the path of a small stream, picking flowers in the Meadow, following a butterfly's flight for a while. Rodrick still brings his bow everywhere, though I'm not sure why. In the day, the forest is everything that is green and light and beautiful. After a while, we sit in a little alcove, perfectly sheltered from the world around us, and share a small lunch.

"Here," Rodrick says. "No one can watch us."

"Who would watch us?" I ask, spreading expensive cheese I brought across the dry bread Rodrick brought.

"Them. _Them_." Rodrick emphasizes. I don't understand and he must see that, because he buries his head in his hands, frustration rolling off him in waves.

He's quiet for a few minutes. Then, he says, "How can you be so _blind_?"

"Excuse me?" I say, offended.

He doesn't listen. "How can you not see everything that's around you? We're slaves, _slaves_. We were born to serve people we never met and we will die that way. Not only that, but they take our children, our _children_! Don't you ever think about that, about the Games?"

I blush and look down. "Of course I think about it. But it doesn't do any good to-"

"You've never known someone, have you? I mean, you've never known a tribute before?"

I open my mouth to protest, but then think about it. A few years ago, one of the boys picked, Samuel, lived across my street since I was born. I never knew him, but I always saw him sitting on his porch, reading or playing with his little brother. So I guess I knew him before he went to the Games. Before he died. But...

"No," I say, defeated. "No, I haven't."

"My mom," he says. "Her brother's name was Vincent. Died a few years back. He had a kid, girl named Reyna. Sweet little girl. She was thirteen when she was picked." He has to stop, to take a few breathes. "Girl didn't even have a chance. Died at the Cornucopia." He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes. "Her dad killed himself a few weeks later."

There's nothing someone can say to that. There's nothing I can relate it to. Nothing I have to compare. Except Oak. But even that doesn't quite add up to it. The fear, the anticipation, the dread, the knowing that either you will go in or you'll die worrying about it. It all adds up. But it takes a while, with Rodrick explaining things slowly.

In the Seam, the Hunger Games are so different. The merchants hardly think about. I mean, we think about it, but it's not way up on our list of fears. Hardly anyone signs up for the terresae. There's nothing to worry about, only that slim glimmer of tragedy. But in the Seam, almost everyone is signed up for terresae. The Hunger Games are the giver of life, and the taker of it. Death seems to loom over the children of the Seam. Either starvation, sickness, mining accident, or the Hunger Games.

A thought covers my mind. "Oh, Rodrick," I whisper. "What if you-"

"Don't worry," he says, gallantly. "I'll put up a fight before they take me down." He means it as a joke and I try to laugh about it, but end up letting a few tears slip though. Rodrick pulls me into him, stroking my cheek, promising not to speak of it, promising it'll never happen. Promises he can never keep, but I let myself be comforted. But now all I can see is Rodrick, walking up to the stage, a stranger holding a slip of paper with the words, _Rodrick Everdeen_, carefully written on it.

"Could I volunteer?" I blurt out before I can think. I'm his same age, I could do it. I don't have to support my family, unlike him. It would be easier, it would be...

I look up into his face and know he's thinking the same think I am: I don't have that kind of courage. And I find myself crying again.

"I'm a coward," I mutter. "I'm a stupid, ungrateful little coward."

"Shh," he murmurs. "It's okay. It's okay to be afraid of it. It's okay. I don't expect you to volunteer for me, Wisty. Shh, it's okay. It's okay, it's okay to cry about it. But don't be ashamed, because your sorrow is... Is beautiful." And with that, he gives me a soft, lingering kiss.

Salt mingles with our lips. The kiss is strange, full of love and self-hatred. But I lose myself in it.

**End chapter! In case you live under a rock, I named the chapter for that line from Beauty and the Beast. Anyway, thanks for reading. Request to follow on Twitter reallyuseawish**

**Feel free to add suggestion to the plot, characters, or anything. I'm all ears.**


	5. Ch 5 - The In Crowd

**I don't own Hunger Games, _stupid_.**

CHAPTER 5

_The Other Crowd_

It's spring now, when the trees' bare branches are softened by the green of new leaves and the pines are flushed with new color. Rodrick and I pick flowers in the Meadow, listen to birds sing as we lie in the grass. Rodrick takes me along the ridge of a few tall hills and the view takes my breath away. The land we live in was once known as Appalachia. And it's a land of greens and blues and sky and rolling hills.

Sometimes we sit on the crest of the tallest hill, and there, I hear Rodrick's voice. I hear him sing for the first time. It's something that I can't truly explain. It's the rush of wind between trees, it's the running of a stream over dry earth. Rodrick's voice sharpens the world, makes every color brighter and clearer. He sings simple things, songs of the Seam. Melodies telling of fire and coal, of toil and pain, of hope and love.

"That's beautiful," I say the first time he does it. He blushes and I can't help but think it's the first time I've seen him uncomfortable.

"It's nothing. Really. It's just a Seam thing." And that's that. More and more, so many of my questions are answered by this. The Seam runs through Rodrick's veins alongside his blood. And the more I get to know him, the more the wall is built between us. The wall between merchants and the Seam. And the more I get to know him, the more I want to tear down that wall.

So, when Rodrick tells me about his cousin's wedding in a few days, I jump on the opportunity.

"That sound's incredible," I say. "Do you think she'd mind if I came?"

Rodrick just looks at me, like I've said I'm planning to grow wings or something. I shrug this off, I'm not nervous.

"Because I think I should be meeting your friends."

"You know my friends." He says, carefully.

"Please. Ian and Hazelle are nice, but I know they're just pretending when I'm around. And they can't be your only friends. Please," I say, tilting my head and leaning close to him. He takes deep breathes and clears his throat.

"I don't think it's the best idea." He says.

Oh, but it doesn't matter. I tell Juliana about it and she insists on me tagging along. Rodrick may or may not have protested, but with two stubborn women around, it doesn't matter.

On the day of the wedding, I sneak out around four o'clock with Daddy covering for me, saying I'm at Maysilee's. I'm wearing a simple, lavender dress, my hair braided elegantly yet simply. I'm hoping it doesn't show how much money I have. I meet Rodrick in front of his house. He's wearing faded clothes that are scrubbed clean, but looks dashing enough to earn a kiss on the cheek. Juliana emerges from the house, her blue dress barely covering her huge belly.

"I'm so glad you could make it," She says, embracing me.

"Me too."

"You look _so_ lovely. Doesn't she, Rodrick?" She hints, with no subtly.

"She does." He smiles at me and slips his hand into mine.

As we walk to his cousin's home, we chat. Juliana complains about her stomach. "I hope the baby comes soon so _this_ thing is out of my way," she says, dramatically gesturing to the round shape. They ask about home and I simply say we're well. Really, I've noticed things getting worse. The green fever left Daddy weak and his hands are now curled with arthritis. Lily doesn't speak to me anymore. Mother only glares at me. My house has gotten quieter and quieter. Like a war zone.

Rodrick's cousin is a little richer than most in the Seam. He's able to afford a nice wedding, with a lot of people and food. His house is small, but his backyard is cleared and crowded with smiling, laughing people. Someone is playing a fiddle and a fiddle and couples are dancing like storms.

"Rodrick!" Hazelle rushes forward, with Ian right behind her. She looks lively in a peach color frock. She embraces Rodrick and Juliana; Ian clasps hands with hand and pulls him into a hug, mostly just to mess up each others hair.

Hazelle examines me up and down. "Greenwood." She says. In school, she's civil and polite. Now, in her element, she's much more like a force of nature than a polite friend.

"Hazelle," I say. "Hi."

"Hi, Wisteria." Ian says stiffly. Rodrick look from me, to Hazelle, to Ian, and back. But he stays quiet.

There's an awkward silence, where we size each other up. I'm pretty sure we're about to jump each other and rip out each others hair, when Juliana shoves her large belly between us.

"Well, my legs are killing me. Wisteria, could you be a dear and help me into one of those chairs?" She takes me by the arms and leads me away. We manage to squeeze through the crowd and fall into rickety wicker chairs.

"Thanks for that." I say. "I was dying out there."

"Don't mention it." She says, adjusting herself so her belly doesn't crush her lungs. "I know Hazelle can seem hostile, but it's just a-"

"A Seam thing?"

"Yes." She smiles sympathetically. "It's like a defensive mechanism. We have to be hard to protect ourselves." I must look as uncertain as I feel, because Juliana reaches over and takes my hand.

The party is buzzing, at least by Seam standards. Lights are burned around the yard. No one talks to me, even though almost everyone stops to say hello to Juliana. I get sideways glances and glares, making sure that I know I'm an outsider. I look at my lap most of the time, once or twice venturing to the food tables to get Juliana and me a glass of water or a small snack.

The food here is simple, kept to the bare minimum. Small pieces of bread with thin layers of cheese or spreads. A medium sized cake sits proud on a table. A little less proud with several pieces cut out. A big bowl of insipid punch sits, almost untouched. I see a few bottles of whiskey and spirits being passed around by a few couples.

The dancing never stops it's whirring motion, not even when the bride and groom make an appearance. The bride is wearing a rented white dress, but her face is radiating happiness.

The music picks up and Rodrick appears, sweat on his forehead and a smile on his face. "You. Have. To. Dance." He says to me, gasping.

"No, no, I can't-" But he has me by the hand and has pulled me into the fray. Bodies are pressing up against me at all sides, all I do is step on Rodrick's feet, I don't know this dance, and the air is thick and hot with breath and sweat. But Rodrick just holds onto me, one hand on my waist and another clasping the other. We sway to the music until there's a low point, where couples start leaving the dance floor. The night has turned dark by now, the lights are dying by now. The fiddle plays something sad and slow, but sweet. Rodrick pulls me into his chest and I let myself move to the beat of his heart. The warm scent of his skin mingles with mine and I close my eyes and breath deep.

"You're not having fun." He says.

I smile, not even considering denying it. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm just sorry everyone is kind of being..."

"Jerkish? Rude? Unkind?"

"Yeah. All of the above." He sighs. "They don't mean to be, they really don't. They just don't know how to open up to strangers. It's-"

"A Seam thing. Yeah, so I've been told." I laugh a little, not really caring. Our worlds are different, and they may not approve of either of us, but it doesn't matter.

_Yes it does_, a voice tells me. _You know it does_. I can try and run from it, but it'll always come back.

I open my mouth to say something, when a blood wrenching scream cuts the air. The remaining crowd stops, stops everything. Even breathing seems to stop.

There's Juliana, leaning on her wicker chair. With dark blood dripping between her legs.


	6. Ch 6 - My Fault

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 6

_My Fault_

Juliana's screams are something that I can't fully understand. It's something that is pulled out from the dark pit of animal emotion. From a world that I have yet to know. Yes, it's pain and hurt. But so much more of it is terror. Pure, unadulterated terror.

Rodrick and some other men carry her to the house, the women surging behind her. But I force my way through. I may only be a sixteen year old among a crowd of women who birth children in their spare time, but I'm a healer. It's in my blood.

They've laid Juliana on the dining table. Her normally serene, loving face is torn with wave after wave of pain. Three elderly women circle her, murmuring soft comforts.

"That's it, Juliana." They coo. "Your body knows whats to do. Let it run it's course."

"No, no," She cries out. "Something's wrong, something, something... Ah- Ahh!"

They shake their heads, sure that it is only a pregnant women positive that her delivery is different from the millions before her. But I know different.

"No, she's right." I say. The crowd parts like the sea. I must be a silly sight, a delicate flower of a merchant girl, refuting knowledge passed down from generation to generation.

"Stop being stupid, girl." They say. "This is serious."

"I'm a Greenwood." I say. "I know what's happening."

This makes them a bit nervous, so I push my way through them. As I examine her, I notice Rodrick clutching his mother's hand tight. His eyes are filled with the panic that his prey has, right before he brings them down to their doom.

"This is too much blood." I say. "It's not natural. The isn't coming out this way."

They scoff at me. "What other way would you like it? Out her ears?"

I ignore them. "Hazelle," I say, picking her out of the crowd. "Go to my house and tell my dad what's happening. Tell him I need to do a C-section. He'll know what to give you."

She looks like she's going to comply, but then says, "Why should I listen to you, Greenwood?"

"Hazelle, please." I hear Rodrick mutter. But I don't listen. I stalk to her, standing inches from her face.

"I was not asking," I say evenly. "I was telling. Would you like that repeated? You _will_ go to my father, you _will_ tell him what's happening, and you _will_ bring back what he gives you. Understand, Hazelle?" I grab her arms too tight and see her grimace, but now I'm angry. "Do you? Do you really understand?" I push her back. She starts to tumble but catches herself. When she's righted, she glares at me, cheeks burning. But she's out the door, hopefully doing what she's been told.

The world has shifted, blacked out. There's only me and Juliana. I go over and crotch next to her, my mouth close to her ear.

"Juliana." I whisper. "Juliana. Your baby isn't going to come out. We're going to need to cut it out." She doesn't say anything, just closes her eyes and mutters. "Juliana, I have to tell you. If Hazelle gets here too late, if anything goes wrong... You and the baby might die." There's only silence, mingled with Juliana's rough breaths. "But if we don't do anything," I say firmly. "You both will die. That's certain."

Suddenly, she grasps my shoulder tighter than death. She looks in my eyes and I see her eyes, clear as water and full of fire.

"Save my baby." She croaks. "You have to.. you have to-" A contraction cuts her off, her breath stopping suddenly.

"You have to help her." There's Rodrick, thrusting his way into this tiny world of mine. "No matter what. Save her. The baby-"

"That baby is what she wants." I growl back. "And that's what I'm gonna give her."

"Wisteria, you can't-"

"Hold her down," I say, turning from him. Men take her complying arms in their grasps. Juliana, through the red haze of pain, weakly smiles at Rodrick.

"I'll be fine, baby." Her voice is papery. "You'll see."

I check her again. No, too much blood. Hazelle won't be here soon enough, no, no, no...

"Get me a knife." I shout. "We have to do this now."

"No," Rodrick challenges. "Hazelle will be back soon."

"Not soon enough."

"Wisteria, I won't let you-"

"Good thing it's not your decision."

"_No_!" His voice is flaming. "I won't let you touch her!" His face is morphed into a man that I don't know and lunges for me. Surprisingly, no panic chokes me. Rodrick is held back by men I don't know. They pull him out, cursing and yelling threats at me. And suddenly, it's me and a bunch of old women who don't know me, don't trust me.

I turn to the weathered women next to me. "Get me a knife." And she does. I examine Juliana's belly. I've seen a few C-sections, but only preformed one, and that was with the help of Daddy. A wave of uncertainty knocks at my confidence. I could kill her. I could kill her and her baby. I could destroy the only family Rodrick has.

"Please," Juliana's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Save my baby. Save my Christopher." I'm faintly aware that her husband, Mr. Everdeen was Christopher.

And with that, I slice her skin.

Blood erupts all over me, staining my face and dress. Juliana's scream is like the knife that cuts into her. Sharp and piercing. Worse, the fact that she screams, "Don't stop, don't stop!" I search in her, feeling bloody and water and sac-like things floating around.

"I've got him!" I pull the baby out quickly. It's a Christopher. He is small and covered in mucus and blood. Quick like lightning, an old women slices his cords and ties it off. I clear his nose and mouth, gently forcing air into them, rubbing his chest to stimulate his lungs.

His soft cries are beautiful, a gentle undertone to his mother's shrieks, which are getting weaker and weaker. I lean over, my energy suddenly gone but I'm smiling.

"Girl," A women says. "The bleeding."

And suddenly, the world is back in high gear. Someone takes Christopher from me. I don't know who. In my lapse in concentration, all my knowledge is gone. My hands move dumbly, putting clothes in Juliana to soak the blood that never stops. I don't know what to do, I don't. I can't do this, I've killed her, I can't, I can't-

"My baby." Juliana's voice is weak, like mist in the early sun. "Give me... Give me my baby."

Since it's her last request, we can't do anything but comply. Christopher is gently placed at his mother's breast. She leans her head into him, takes a deep breath, and smiles. Juliana's skin is getting paler, like snow. Hazelle won't get here in time. Even if she did, there's no hope. Juliana is gone. Her head falls back and someone cries. I think it's me.

I lean over, close her eyes, and take Christopher from her dead arms. I hope Juliana finds the peace she deserves. I hope she finds her true Christopher. She died with a smile on her face, so I think she will.

The world calms, turning back to normal. Christopher is still crying. The women all stare at me, not comfortingly, not understanding. Anger is there, along with blame and hate. I've killed her, I've killed Juliana.

I walk outside. The night is darker now. Not even the moon glows. The torches are still lit and they show men all around, nervously pacing. Rodrick sits at the door, head buried in his hands. He hears Christopher and looks up. His face is a million years older and his eyes get dark as they rest on his brother.

"Meet Christopher." I say, trying to be hopeful, but my voice breaks.

"How is she?" His voice is low.

"Rodrick, I-"

"How. Is. She?" He's in my face, inches away. Christopher has begun to shriek, but Rodrick doesn't even look down. His face is so intense, I can't breath.

"Wisteria. What's happened to my mother?" His voice is cold now, like ice.

"I-I'm... I'm so sorry."

Rodrick's face twists with rage and grief. He turns into a psycho, going around the yard, screaming in the dark, hitting trees, throwing huge rocks at nothing, shoving anyone who comes near him. The night is filled with the two Everdeen boys' screams. Both for the mother they will never have.

"Please," I try and plead with him, following him around. Christopher is in the arms of another women, being fed. "Please, you have to calm down. The baby-"

"I don't care! I don't! My mom, my mom-" He breaks down, weeping. Tears rush out of his eyes I step forward to embrace him, but he pushes me away.

"Rodrick, please. Let me-"

"No! NO, you, you... You killed her!" He grabs my arms and is shaking me. I'm scared. Scared because it's true and we both know it. Scared of his rage. "You killed my mom!"

"Rodrick, I'm sorry." Now I'm crying, because everything is falling down around me. "Rodrick, please, believe me. I'm-"

His fist comes quick and powerful. I fall to the ground, clutching my face. It's on fire and I feel blood. My nose may be broken, I don't know. I cry into the ground. I cry for Juliana and for Christopher. But mostly for Rodrick. And for me.

Rodrick just stands above me, cold and distant. Doesn't apologize, doesn't cry with me. Just stands there. Then, he turns and walks into the darkness.

I'm crying more and more. My nose keeps running with blood and mucus and I'm freezing, but I don't care. Everything hurts but I don't care. I'm getting a little dizzy but I don't care. No one disturbs me, just lets me weep in peace.

And then there's someone there. I can hear another pair of lungs, taking in the night air. Pointless, I think. Why do we keep breathing? It's useless. I look up, and it's Hazelle, carrying the small wooden box that might have saved Juliana's life. From the look in her dark eyes, I can tell she knows. I resume crying, crying so hard that my vision is starting to be cut off from my swollen eyes. I don't care.

Hazelle sits next to me, quiet at first. Then, she's crying too. After a while, we wrap our arms around each other, sharing our grief.

"It's my f-f-fault." I stutter between weeps.

"N-No." She replies. "I should've, I could've gotten here faster. I-I-I..."

This is us. Two girls who can do nothing but blame ourselves for a death that is both of our faults.


	7. Ch 7 - The Calm

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 7

_The Calm_

Juliana's burial is a quiet affair, like all other burials here in the district. We bury our dead in a small corner of the district, pushed up against the electric fence that never runs. The graves are old, a few even going back to before the Dark Days. There's a quiet dignity that hangs in the air, giving the dead the respect they never could get in life.

JULIANA EVERDEEN

49

The number is not her age. Since we don't know of any other way to keep track of years beside the Games, the number represents the Games that have finished closest to the death of someone. The 50th Hunger Games will commence in a few months.

Christopher's grave is small, tucked so close to Juliana's that I could almost believe that in death, she wraps her arms around him in an embrace. The baby did not last long, his lungs were weak and became infected almost right after birth. He died yesterday.

So here I am, around a small group of people that I don't know, dressed in a black dress that's much too expensive, holding two flowered branches. Wisteria. I wanted to give the two of them something of me to hold on to. Rodrick is here, dressed in a grayish shirt and an angry face. He won't look at me, won't speak. Hazelle is there too, but when she tries to speak to Rodrick, he brushes him off. She ends up standing next to me, an easy silence filling the space between us. I think we're friends now, but I'm not sure.

The funeral ends, and the dirt is tossed on the coffins. We all press the three middle fingers of our left hands to our lips and extend them to the graves. Our last goodbye. Hazelle and I leave with the somber crowd, but don't head home. We walk around town, arms linked in uncomfortable friendship. Spring has hit it's peak, with flowers blooming and birds singing and the smell of growth filling the air. I want to scream at it all, I want it all to stop. Because everything isn't right anymore, because I've ruined everything, because I can't handle this anymore.

We walk by the Hob, a small warehouse that is apparently the new meeting place for black market traders. This makes me think of Rodrick, which isn't what I want. We walk into the bakery and examine the cakes and are greeted by their painter, Wheaton Mellark. He tries to talk to me, ignoring Hazelle completely, but he's too awkward. This makes me think of Rodrick's easy charm. We stroll through town, making small comments on the weather, spotting young couples and a women carrying her toddler. This reminds me of Juliana, and that's something I can't deal with right now. We end up in the Seam, outside Rodrick's house.

"I have to talk to him." I say.

"I should go with you."

"No." I'm happy at how firm I sound. Hazelle wants to protest, but she's sensible enough to leave me to it. And then I'm alone, standing in the cruel, warm air. I knock on the door and when Rodrick answers, it's all I can do to not embrace him. His eyes are bloodshot, his face is flushed, his clothes disheveled. But when he registers my face, it's like everything in him hardens.

"Rodrick," I say meekly. "I-I wanted to see how your doing."

"Oh, I'm great." His words are so hard and mean, especially because I know I deserve them. "That was great ceremony, wasn't it? Really touching."

"Please, just let me-"

"Let you what?" He's in my face now, his breath filling my lungs. I smell alcohol and I shiver with fear. An angry Rodrick is something that scares me. A drunk angry Rodrick terrifies me. That's awful, I know. I'm terrified of the person I'm closest to.

"I think you've done enough for me, Wisteria." He continues. "I think you've done plenty. Thanks for all your help. Oh wait, let me show you something." He disappears inside and I follow, against my better judgment.

The house the Everdeen's lived in is still there, but the home that Rodrick and Juliana made is gone. The warm comfort that filled the air is replaced with cold grief and alcohol. Rodrick appears, a bottle in one hand, something small in the other. He throws to small things at me and I catch them. They're little booties, carefully knitted with a loving hand.

"They're great, aren't they? Really good work. I hope they get used well. Oh wait," He takes a swig from his bottle. "The baby's dead. And so is his mom. My mom. Yeah, she's dead." He's so bitter, so purely bitter. And I can't do anything about it, I just stand there and take it.

"Rodrick," I say. "I-"

He doesn't even pay me any attention. "And you know what else? They're sending me to the mines?" He laughs meanly. "That's just great, isn't it? Great, right? I get to work until I die in the mines that killed my dad? That's awesome." He takes another deep drink.

"You're not even 18." I say quietly. "How can they do that?"

"They think that an orphan who's 17 is ready to start doing some good for his people. Hah." Another drink. The drink is barely going down his throat, a lot dribbling out and onto his shirt. "Might as well off myself now."

That strikes a cord for me. "Rodrick, you wouldn't, would you? You wouldn't kill yourself?"

"Why, you wanna do it for me? Since you're so good at that."

Now I'm crying and I'm so mad, so angry. "Stop that!" I scream. "Stop acting like I don't care. Because I do. I do, okay? It hurts me too and it's not fair for you to treat me like this, get it? It's not fair!"

"My mom died!"

"I know!" My voice is screeching now. "I know, okay? But you're not the only one suffering from it, don't you understand that? I'm feeling it too! I knew Juliana too."

"Don't act like you understand. Because you don't."

"Rodrick, I lost someone too." I say, quiet now. I mean Juliana and Christopher _and_ Oak. I've had my fair share of grief.

He doesn't say much for a while, just lounges in a chair as I stand stiffly in the middle of the house. The air is crackling with tension. I think he's forgotten I'm there when he says something.

"Get out."

"What?" I don't understand.

"You heard me. Get out." He starts working up momentum and begins shouting. "Get out! I never want to see you again!"

"Rodrick, this won't help. This won't bring them back." And now I'm crying again. "Please, don't push me away. Please, let me help. Please."

"Get out!" He's up out of his seat, pushing me to the door. "Go!"

"Rodrick, no." The words spill out of my mouth before I can think better. "I love you."

He flinches, like I've hit him. I think he might see reason, but he just shoves me out the door. I stumble and fall in the dirt.

"You're dead to me! Never come back! _Never_!"

The world is quiet now. Quiet and cold. I'm curled up on the ground, all cried up. Just kind of whimpering into myself. When the sky starts darkening, I pick myself up and go to my house. My family is worried, questioning me about how I am, where I've been, what I need. I don't answer, my blood is like lead.

The days seem to blur together. Like I've fallen underwater and I can't tell anything apart in the murky depths. I don't leave my bed most days, Mother serves me in bed. Some people come and check me, but I don't pay them much attention. I hide under the covers and block out the world. Sometimes Maysilee comes, smiling and telling me about things that she doesn't really care about but that she thinks will bring me back. Hazelle comes too, sometimes telling me about Rodrick. But that just makes me quiet and Mother makes her leave. So she mostly just sits with me, holding my hand in silence.

Daddy is getting worse. He would be better, but the stress over worrying about me has ruined the little good health that he had. He mixes specials brews, picks flowers for my bedside, has Maysilee bring her singing canary over. Anything to make me smile. But it doesn't matter. Nothing helps. He tries talking to me, telling me he understands the hurt I feel but how I must move past it because I have to, it's my duty. You're so wrong, Daddy. You have no idea what it's like.

Mother has lost any love she had for me. She brings me food with indifference, doesn't look me in the eyes. I think she's teaching this to Lily, who's started to avoid our room at all costs. So mostly I'm alone. And mostly, I either sleep, eat, or cry.

I've stopped caring. I've just let go. I don't know anything anymore.


	8. Ch 8 - Wake Me Up

**I don't own Hunger Games. Stupid. Wait, have I already used that one?**

CHAPTER 8

_Waking Up_

Another days starts and everything is cold, despite the heat. We're in late May, and already the air is boiling. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It... It doesn't...

I lie in bed for a good few hours. Lily has gone to school like a silent ghost. Mother and Daddy are downstairs. I've gotten so used to lying in bed, I can decipher what the small creaks of the house mean. Mother is cooking in the kitchen. Daddy is slowly pacing in the living room, no doubt about me. A bolt hits my heart, but I've stopped feeling anything a long time ago.

I drift in and out of the gray area of unconsciousness. It feels like I've lost feeling in my limbs, like all my soul has retracted into the core of my being. Like a quiet heart beating underneath layers of snow. I don't even know what I'm saying.

Suddenly, there's shouts downstairs, the sound of people rushing in, soft moans. I don't know who, I don't know why. Something about stirs my heart, forces me to get out of bed and go downstairs. I feel my face is heavy, like I'm just action and sometimes reaction and nothing else.

I manage to catch a glimpse of people running into my kitchen. I force my way through and my breath stops. Rodrick is draped face down on my kitchen table with his shirt off. His back is raw meat, bloody and beaten and oozing and radiating pain. His face, I can't even look at it. It's just pain and nothing else. People arrange him carefully as Daddy rushes here and there, trying to stop the pain, stop the bleeding, stop infection, stop everything. Mother is standing by the stove, looking shocked and out of place with her starched white apron.

The people begin to filter out, aware of their uselessness. As they leave, they stare at me. I must be a mess. I've lost weight. Despite my sleep, I have dark circles around my eyes. My blonde curls, once meticulously cared for, have turned into a tangled mess. But they each leave without saying a word.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice raspy for disuse.

"What?" Daddy looks up and his eyes are misty. He doesn't recognize me. Even cold, distant me is able to feel a little fear.

Someone speaks up, "A new Head Peacekeeper did this. Rodrick, he was caught with game. Not that much, but enough to earn him a whipping."

I step forward and take hold of Daddy."Can you fix him?"

"Yes," I can't tell if he remembers me or not, I don't know, but he's nodding slowly. "But- but... Wisty, I need you to do it. My, my hands." He holds up his hands. They're curled with arthritis, the veins thick and blue under his skin. The fingers are shaking and twitching almost uncontrollably. I become aware of the thick white staining his hair. My Daddy has aged 20 years before my eyes, unable to move his hands or remember his own daughter's name.

"I-I can't." I try and back away, but Daddy grabs my hands.

"Yes, you can. You have to." He looks me in the eyes and I try not to flinch. "Wisty, if neither of us do anything, this boy will die. R-Rodrick will die, I promise you that."

My heart and mind is stuttering, is failing, is falling. But my body has a mind and heart of its own. And suddenly, I'm moving and running and mixing and pouring. It's like every cell in my body is humming and shaking. And I'm shouting for boiled water and clean rags. And I'm yelling at my mother for being in the way, telling her to get out. And the other people and Daddy all disappear. They're not real. And then I'm cleaning Rodrick's back, saving the little skin I can and seeing how deep each blow hit him. In some places, I see an ivory sliver of bone.

The heat is stifling in the kitchen, waves of it coming of Rodrick's back. And the flies, they come in hoards. Every minute, I have to turn around and wave away the second skin of moving bugs that cover the red flesh. I tell someone to hold a fan and constantly use it to blow away the pests. I don't know who. Rodrick is mostly silent, sometimes crying out in raw pain, sometimes able to form words. Mostly he cries for his mother and father. Or maybe his brother. And me. I can't think about that right now, so I try and assume that he's in pain and wants me to fix it.

I think it's late now, I don't know. I'm sitting in a chair, staring at the wounds. I'm alone and the house is quiet. I think it's dark outside, but I'm not sure. The fan is in my arms, going up and down, and I'm tired. So tired. Yet, I've never felt so alive. Like I've gone from a stagnant pool of self pity and self hatred into the frothy ocean and I'm surging forward at ten thousand miles an hour. Like I've been trapped in a thousand year sleep and I've been shocked awake, painfully gloriously awake, and I'm running like a hurricane.

The energy that courses through me manifests itself in small things. A twitch of a hand, the tapping of a foot.

Mostly I satisfy myself by holding Rodrick's hand, by running my hands through his hair, by tracing the muscles of his arms with a delicate fingertip. He's asleep now, fitfully. I lay on the edge of the small table, on my stomach, my face turned to his. It's sad but perfect. His face, I mean. His eyebrows are brought down on top of his dark rimmed eyes. His lips are full, which I never noticed before. They part and let out an uneasy breath. His skin is smooth and even, ignoring the streaks of blood and coal. Everything is just perfect and it kills me and I hate it, I hate it so much, because it's not mine, because I can't have him, I can't, because nothing is as it should be, because I've ruined everything, everything that was ever good.

I can't stop myself, I lean in and press my lips to his. The kiss itself is nothing, just a sad reminder that I can't be his. A voice in the back of my head tells me how ridiculous I am, how stupid this all is. But then, Rodrick, he starts crying.

"What?" I say, back in fast motion, struggling off the table. "I can get something for the pain. Here, I'll-"

"Wisty." His face is leaking tears, so many that already a pool is mixing with the blood that stains the wood of the table. "Wisty. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

And I don't know what to do, so I just hold his hand and stroke his forehead as he cries for everything. Now that Rodrick is back in the world, the idea of being with him evaporates in the light of everything. I don't think it can happen, I don't think we can rebuild the bridges we both burned. But.. But...

I eventually summon of the cruelty to pry his hand from mine. I search the kitchen and the shop and find anything I can to ease the pain. I brew it all in a strong tea, but it doesn't do much. All the time, he's just talking about how he's so sorry and how he needs me back and how he promises he's forgiven me because there was nothing to forgive in the first place, please, Wisteria, please, come back to me, I need you. I end up just giving him some sleep syrup, enough for a day. He's out like a light.

Rodrick fills my head and no matter how hard I shake it, I can't get him out. I wish there was someone to show me how love went, how love was suppose to go perfectly, so I would know the right way to go. Because I can manage this slope, can't find the right way out of this suffocating labyrinth. Is this how it felt, I ask Oak in my mind. Is this how it feels to be buried alive?

Can Rodrick's forgiveness be enough to make me whole again and make everything better? I don't know, I don't think that it will, it won't. Because he's burned too many bridges, because I can't get the image of Rodrick brimming with rage, his fist hitting me squarely in the face. I can't. I can't do that, not till I'm sure, I can't. No matter how much I want to, no matter how much I think I need him, something in me that's older and wiser tells me I can't.

_ My _forgiveness will do that though. The thought enters me like lightning, and I'm stilled for a moment. I find myself crying because I decide that it wasn't my fault that Juliana died. It wasn't my fault that Christopher died. It wasn't my fault that everything fell apart. Everything falls into place and it clicks, it makes sense, finally the fog has lifted a little, the world shifted. I start to cry and then I start laughing because I cry too much.


	9. Ch 9 - The Reaping

**I don't own Hunger Games**

CHAPTER 9

_The Reaping_

The color bleeds back into life. Though not as vibrant as before. District 12 is like a faded photograph, still retaining a little life. I blame that on Rodrick's absence, but I try not to think about that.

The new Head Peacekeeper, a thickly set man with hair the color of ash and a thick Capitol accent named Caligula, unleashes his punishments on anyone who even looks at him wrong. My kitchen table has seen too many bloody backs for a long time. The people of the District are angry and weary, but nothing happens. That's our way, take all of the Capitol's anger and only project fatigue. It's almost frustrating. Anyways, almost every young man ends up on my table, naked and bleeding. To be honest, I don't notice. So when Maysilee blushes one day and comments on the amount of "action" I'm getting, I have no idea what she's talking about.

Maysilee has been a been a huge help. She's developed quite a knack for helping those in pain and she picks up herbs really quick. She's been helping me with _me_. Slowly building my heart back together. I feel like glass most of the time, like I'm on the brink of crumbling. But Maysilee is always there, always listening, always caring. I begin to feel like Margret, totally dependent on her.

Rodrick does not help the situation. No, he insists on showing up everyday on my doorstep, game bag full of greens. The whipping has not deterred his appetite for the woods, has not curbed his personal rebellion. Has not stopped him from loving me. He at least has the sense to stop bothering me about it, has resigned himself to slowly growing on me, like before. And despite myself, I find all the old feeling growing and blooming under the radiant heat of his attention. But when he leaves, it's like winter comes and I feel sad again, and lost, and I don't know where to go.

I'd think I'd like it better if he just left me alone.

Today is the reaping. During the spring, I turned seventeen. I don't think we did anything on my birthday. Anyways, I only have my name in the drawing six times, so the chances of me being picked as tribute are slim compared to those in the Seam. But, this year is a Quarter Quell, a tricky Hunger Games with some new twist. They announced a few weeks ago that the trick this year is that double the amount of tributes must be sent to the Games. My chances are doubled. Lily's name is in once. She'll turn thirteen in November.

In the morning, I dress in a light blue dress, pulling my hair back in a matching ribbon. I don't understand why we dress up for the reaping, but we do and I'm not brave enough to break the tradition. Lily is wearing a white dress that was once mine. Sure that she's nervous for her first reaping, I lay a hand on her shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" I say. She flinches and jerks away.

"Fine."

"Lily," I start. "It's okay to feel nervous."

"I'm not nervous. Just... _Don't_ touch me." Her voice has a remarkable resemblance to my mother's.

"Lily, I-"

"Stop." She interrupts me. "You just want to leave and be with that, that... _Seam_ boy."

I don't know how to respond to that, I just stand there dumbly. Lily glares at me and says, "I say you. With him in the kitchen. I saw you. Kissing _him_."

"Lily, you don't understand." I try and say.

"Why can't you be happy where you're suppose to be?" She says. "Why can't you stick to the people you're suppose to be with? Why can't you like Wheaton?"

"Wheaton?" I snap. "Why would I like Wheaton?"

"Wisteria," She says, the use of my real name making me frown. She's not my little sister anymore. "He's so rich and nice. Why can't you just like him?"

"Lily, stop it." I say firmly. "Who I like and who I don't like it not for you to pick. Or for Mother to pick." She doesn't say anything, just turns around and finishes brushing her thick blonde hair. In another life, I would be doing that for her, whispering words of comfort and telling her jokes to make her laugh. Not any more. Now, I'm _Wisteria_.

We don't say anything, just go downstairs when we're ready. Mother is coming with us, Daddy is too weak. He's beginning to worry me, becoming more and more like a ghost. Thinner and thinner. Grayer and grayer. He doesn't remember me most days, just lets me spoon insipid soup into him. It kills me, every time I have to change the sheets of my invalid Daddy, who use to sweep me up in his arms and toss me into the sky and make me laugh so hard, he would say I was gonna get a six pack. It kills me, and I don't know if I can do anything. What's worse, I realize that if Daddy dies, I will have no home. Mother will not care for me. I'll have nothing. I need Daddy to live for _me_. That's an awful thing to think, I know.

The Town Square is crowded, resembling a trapped herd of cows. The crowd on the outside of the ring is worried and silent. I'm surrounded by other kids my age, pressing against me on all sides and suffocating me. A hand takes mine and I start to panic before I see that it's Maysilee. I smile the smile of one who is about to break. She smiles the smile of one who is here to rebuild and leads me to an area that's a little less choking. Maysilee is dressed in a simple frock, a gold pin shining on her chest. A mockingjay. Beautiful.

Up on the stage, the mayor is giving his speech about the Dark Days, about the districts' repentance, about our penance. I don't pay attention, because it's the same every year. Maysilee leans over and whispers, "That's gonna be Undersee in a few years." I smile, but I don't really care, if I'm being honest.

A women from the Capitol, wearing a well fitted green wig, says, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She, too, gives a perfunctory speech about how incredible it is to be in our hospitable district for this year's exciting Games. It's falling on deaf ears though. But this women must have a lot of guts, because it doesn't phase her at all. She simply chirps, "Ladies first!", and sticks her arm in the glass bowl with all the girl names.

I can't really explain that feeling. That feeling of, it won't be me, I know, it can't be me, please, please, I can't let it be me, oh no, it's going to be me. But it's not, it's a girl from the Seam with the Seam look who starts crying on stage. That won't do her good now, the hard part of my heart thinks. But it's not over. The women's hand is back in the ball, and this time, I know the name.

"Maysilee Donner."

I can't really explain that feeling. That feeling where you think you should laugh, because there's no way she said what I think she said. And then the crowd parts a little and the Peacekeepers are coming towards you and you think they're gonna hurt you because there's no reason for them to come towards you, but they don't, they just take her and pull her away, and you think you hear someone screaming and you don't know if that's you or not and everyone is staring and doesn't say anything and doesn't protest or anything, and then you see Margret running towards her and you hold Margret as tight as you can, and you let her cry because you're crying too, but you make sure to keep your eyes on her, because her eyes are turned forward and you have to make sure she feels that you're looking at her, and the cameras are looking at you and you see yourself on the screen for a moment, and she looks dignified but you can't take it, you can't, because you know she's going to die.

I think I'm on the ground, holding Margret. I'm not quite sure. People are touching me, helping me up, sending Margret and I through the crowd, to the edge. There, we find the Donner parents, and they're crying and we're crying louder and louder. And I look up to the stage and Maysilee, she's crying, but she's staring straight ahead. They call the two other names, two Seam boys. I don't know them, so I'm not crying for them.

The Peacekeepers come and get us after the crowd begins to leave. They tell us we're allowed to see Maysilee before she's taken away on the train. I can't tell if they think I'm another sister, or if they know about our friendship, but they let me go anyway.

I don't notice a lot about the Justice Building. It's dark and old. Margret and her parents go in first. I hear crying but I don't listen too hard. Because in three other rooms, the same thing is happening with three other families. I don't listen because it's getting too hard and I just cover my ears with my hands and feel like I'm about to explode.

Fifteen minutes pass, and then I'm standing there as Maysilee sits on the couch. She's crying a little and I don't hesitate before I rush to her side and I'm crying too. She's saying how I'm her best friend, how she hopes everything works out for me, how much I mean to her.

"I want you to have my canary. The one that sings the prettiest." She says. I don't say anything, I just nod and cry and she cries and the Peacekeepers come after what seems like a moment and they're pulling me away and we're still holding onto each other and I don't think I can let go, but I do. I do and I'll never be able to go back.

The Donners are gone. Gone to mourn in peace, to shut their windows and doors and try and imagine how they'll make it through the next few weeks. I dumbly make my way out the building, looking at my feet. I don't know where my family is. I think they've left me. I don't know.

Rodrick is outside.

I can't really explain that feeling. Of losing your foundation to the world. I just start crying and crying and he holds me and lets me and runs his fingers through my hair and doesn't try and tell me she'll be okay, that she might win, because he knows that's a lie, and I love him for that. I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love Rodrick Everdeen. I start saying that, I'll regret that but I don't think I should have to worry about things like that. He starts saying, "I love you", back to me. And everything starts making sense. But it doesn't, it can't, I want it to be that simple, but it isn't because my best friend will be dead in a month, and I don't think I can believe in anything as stupid as love right now because nothing lasts and nothing is safe and I just hurt a lot and I'm still crying and I hate that I'm so stupid and I feel like all I do is cry and then I think how awful that is when Maysilee is on a train to her execution. And I just hold Rodrick, because he's the only thing that I can hold onto right now.

"Marry me."

I can't really explain that feeling. The feeling of knowing everything good that you'll ever have is offering itself to you. Rodrick says this like it's nothing. Well, not nothing. He says it like a comfort and like it's a spell that will fix everything and that's stupid, because it can't be fixed that easy, but something has to do the next best thing, and if I'm being honest, I never did stop loving him, I never could, and I need someone who can take care of me and Rodrick, he's here and he'll always be here and I don't wanna let go of someone else I love because I don't think I'm strong enough to do that again.

"Okay."


	10. Ch 10 - Alone Together, Forever

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 10

_Alone Together, Forever_

I'm standing in front of my house, my knees knocking together. Rodrick is away, at the Justice Building I suppose, organizing the meeting with an official. But Rodrick is an orphan, he doesn't need anyone's permission. I do.

So, when I open the door to my home, I'm dreading what I have to do. Ask for my family's permission to marry Rodrick. To marry a coal miner who will always be a coal miner, who's children will always be coal miners. To leave the social class that I have always been in and can never return to.

My house is cold and empty. No doubt, my mother and sister are out celebrating another year that we have escaped the noose of the Games. Despite our connection with the Donners, we will still be jubilant. I'm partially thankful for their absence.

"Daddy?" My voice is small compared to the overwhelming silence of the house. No answer. I begin searching, like I'm a stranger here. The floors creak beneath my weight and it's overwhelming, how loud they are.

Upstairs, I find Daddy curled up in his bed. He is in the almost same position he was in when we left. I gently sit on the edge of the bed, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Daddy?" I whisper. "Daddy, wake up." He jerks awake, looking around the room, dazed and confused. His eyes are that of a wild animal. I don't know them.

"Daddy, please, I need you."

"What?" He sounds almost furious.

"Please, Daddy. I... I'm getting married. To Rodrick."

"Rodrick?" The anger has gone and now he's back to confused. Neither of which are of use to me at the moment.

"Yes, Daddy. To Rodrick." I say, sounding much more confident than I feel. "I need you to sign this." I pull out the crumpled Consent Form. "Please, Daddy. I need you to do this."

He looks at me for a moment, I can't explain what happens in his gaze. Then, he weakly reaches over, grabs a pin off of the bed side table, and signs his name.

"Thank you, Daddy!" I feel tears spill over but I don't have the energy to cry too hard. "Thank you so much!"  
"Okay."

"Come to the ceremony." I blurt out. "Please. It'd mean a lot to me."

"No, Wisty. I have things to do." He shrugs away from my hand and curls up tighter. I want to say how he's basically a cripple and has nothing he _can_ do. But I don't. I just lean in, kiss his forehead, and walk out.

Holding the Consent Form, I become aware of the hurricane that has become my life. My best friend is on her way to die, my solution is to get married right after? I look down at the Form and consider tearing it up for a moment. Rodrick can't solve all my problems. Can he? I don't know, I don't understand, I don't-

"Hey!" It's Rodrick, jogging up to me. His eyes are bright and alive. Why shouldn't they be? He's getting married to the girl he's been pursuing for almost a year. A year... Is that long enough to be sure that you're in love?

"Did you get it signed?" He asks. I hold out the form.

"Great. They can make it official right now, if you like." He looks at me intently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong. Don't try and pretend."

"Nothing, really." I try shrug it off, but he presses on.

"You don't wanna do this, do you?"

"No, I do!"

"I knew this wasn't a good idea. I shouldn't have asked you, today of all days." He's mostly talking to himself, looking embarrassed and flustered.

"No!" I reach up and cup his face in my palm. He takes my hand and presses his lips against my fingers. "I really want this. Really."

We stand there a while, just looking into each other's eyes. His are wild and gray. Like the life inside them is just an endless storm, waiting to up heave and explode. Like there's enough life in them to find it's way into me. I don't really understand it, but I think I have to marry him.

"Let's go." I whisper. He nods and we hold hands on our way to the Justice Building.

I can't remember much about the wedding. It's a small affair. A women working in the building finds an old veil that she fits in my hair, a small piece of the wedding I would've had if I did this normally. Rodrick is wearing clothes that are clean and not stained with coal dust.

If I was marrying a man of my status, if I was going through with this the way I was suppose to, I would be wearing my mother's wedding dress, which is tucked away in our house specifically for that use. I've put it on before, when I was little, and felt beautiful and elegant and very much like a bride covered in its soft silk and lace. Now, it will go directly to Lily. There would be many people in this room with us, watching happily on our union. Afterwords, no doubt, our family would hold a large party. No doubt _he_ would be rich enough to afford that. There would be a fiddle and a flute, perhaps a guitar or two. Lots of delicious food, much different from the wedding I went to the night Juliana died. My mother would cry, because people would expect her to. My father would dance with me, whisper sweet words in my ear as I held onto him tightly. My husband and I would share a short dance, and then go into our house and make our first fire. Together, we would toast our first bit of bread and share it, the crowd watching, perhaps a few tears escaping. And with that, we would be the perfect couple.

Except that isn't what is happening. That isn't what would happen, even if I was doing this the way I was expected to. I realize that Rodrick is the closest thing I've ever been to happiness. I understand now that real happiness is something I won't ever have, is something that will always just be out of reach. Then I realize, I'm okay with that if Rodrick is next to me.

The justice is saying things. I don't listen. I feel Rodrick's hand wrapped around mine. His hands are scarred and rough, but they hold mine gently. I feel his pulse through his skin. _Ba-dum_, _ba-dum_. I smile when I feel our hearts beating in time, together. Maybe I'm crying, because Rodrick is turning to me and reaching up to stroke my face. No, he's leaning in to kiss me. The justice must have said he could, but I missed it. It's a sweet kiss, my first as a married women, and it's over too soon.

We are told that our home is Rodrick's. They give Rodrick leave from the mines for a week to spend with his bride. They ask if we want a photo and we oblige. The flash is painfully bright and I think I blinked, but the resulting photograph is lovely. I hold it to my chest and I smile.

As we're walking out of the Justice Building, Rodrick sweeps his arms around me and I'm in his arms. I laugh and I can't stop because I'm happy, so painfully bright and happy, and I can't stop. I'm still wearing the veil, I forgot to give it back. The fabric is eaten by moths and faded, but soft and it floats around me like a cloud. It gets in Rodrick's face, the dust aggravating his eyes and nose, causing him to sneeze loudly. I laugh, pretend to be disgusted, but just laugh because I'm so happy.

I'm Wisteria Everdeen.

Me. That's me. Wisteria Everdeen is my new name. That lady, Wisteria Everdeen? That would be me. I am the only Everdeen lady alive. I am the only women married to Rodrick Everdeen. He is mine and I am his.

I'm Wisteria Everdeen.

When we get to Rodrick's house, it's twilight. The milky white of the cloudy sky mingles with the muted orange of the setting sun. Inside, it is tidy and dark. Rodrick has shaped up since I was last standing on the threshold of the house. Any trace of alcohol has been wiped clean. There is still an emptiness, a hollowness. I realize it is now my job to fill that void.

"Well," he says, letting me down gently on the ground. "This... This is home."

I don't like the awkwardness of this situation. I don't like how this is when newlyweds are suppose to lose themselves in the passion of their previously bridled love. I don't like how I have no idea what to do.

"I think I can tolerate this for now." I say, trying to lighten the mood. Rodrick smiles at me, a glowing smile. He walks over and collapse in a sagging chair. I'm full of butterflies, the beautiful kind, but I walk over and sit on his lap. He holds my hands and smiles up at me.

"I love you. _Mrs. Everdeen_." My new name sends tingles up my spine.

"I love you. _Mr. Everdeen_."

"Not the same. I've been Mr. Everdeen for my whole life." I roll my eyes and he scoots in his seat, trying to reach me to give me a kiss, but I rock out of his lap onto the floor. I start laughing when Rodrick jumps to help me up.

"Really, I'm fine." I say between breathes. "It's just, not how I pictured my wedding night." Rodrick sits in the floor next to me, not speaking. Then, he says, "We don't have to, if you're not ready."

Before I can stop myself, I start blushing. "No, it's just that- there are things that we would do at my wedding if, if-"

"If the groom wasn't from the Seam."  
"Yeah."

"I wish I wasn't from the Seam."

"I don't." I say firmly.  
"Well, it would make things easier."

"Yeah." I say with a sigh.

We don't say much for a while. Rodrick holds my hand and I hold his back. The house is getting even darker as the day ends. I try not to think about much, like how the touch of Rodrick's skin make me feel uncomfortable, which is kinda ironic. Finally, Rodrick says, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What's your favorite color?"

I smile in the dark. "Yellow. Yours?"

I can almost see him nod. "Green." We don't say anything now. Then, I say, "Do you guys do a toasting?"

It takes a minute before Rodrick says, a smile brightening his words, "Yes." And with that, Rodrick takes my hand and guides me to the fireplace. Together, we make a small pile of wood. Rodrick is so much more capable than me, but there's still a place for me to take part. A few pieces of coal, some dried grass. Rodrick strikes a match and his face is lit up by dramatic shadows. Our eyes meet and, with a smile, he ignites the fireplace. The flame struggles at first, but grows and morphs and heats up. I stare at the flame as Rodrick disappears for a moment. When he's back, a small loaf of bread is in his hand. With shaky hands, I hold it with him, just near enough the flame to brown the crust. After a moment, we pull it out and Rodrick breaks it in half.

"Till forever?" He almost asks, holding out half to me. I look at the brown bread and all it symbolizes for me. I look at the face that is looking at me. His face is a live with the light of the flames, his eyes are sparkling. I take the bread from his hand.

"From tomorrow, to tomorrow." And with that, we both take a bite of bread. It's flavorless but it doesn't matter. I can barely swallow because I know what's suppose to happen next and I know what I want to happen but I don't know what to do.

Rodrick makes a small attempt at a smile before leaning over and barely touching my lips. He's scared, like a schoolboy. But the kiss, the kiss is the fire. The kiss lights me like a firecracker and I hold his head in my hands and pull him roughly over, on top of me.

And by the our first fire, we make another.


	11. Ch 11 - Smile, Slap

**I don't own Hunger Games. So, I might be jumping around time in the next few chapters, I haven't decided.**

CHAPTER 11

_Smile, Slap_

Happy. That word is under appreciated, so understated. The feelings that I'm feeling deserve so much more than that one word. They deserve a choir, a symphony, a nation. But all they get is a single word. Two easy syllables.

Happy.

I'm laying in Rodrick's bed. My bed now, I guess. My head is resting on his chest, his arm around me. My cheek is directly over his heart. Rodrick's hands, arms, legs, everything is hard and muscular. There are rough scars on his back and hands. But here, where I rest my head, his skin is soft and welcoming. I can see light from behind my eyelids, I should be up by now. But I'm not because I'm so caught up in the bliss of the honeymoon.

Happy.

Rodrick stirs and gets out of bed, leaving me alone between the warm sheets. I try and convince myself he will be back, he will return, but it's no use. Blearily, I rub the sleep from my eyes. It's at least noon, the sunlight filtering through the dingy windows. I get up and slip on of Rodrick's shirts on.

In the kitchen, Rodrick is stoking the fire that has gone dead in the night. He's wearing a pair of pants, wrinkled from spending a night on the floor. On the stove, an egg is sizzling. I lean against the door frame, appreciating the view of my new husband. He looks up and grins at me.

"Good morning."

"Hey." I say. "What's cooking?"

"It's called an egg. Maybe the merchants have some fancy name for them, but here in the Seam, we just call them eggs." I roll my eyes and Rodrick moves towards me and kisses me. This leads to other things, which in the end results in a ruined egg.

"I feel wasteful." I say, scraping the scorched remains into the trash.

"Really, losing one egg was worth it." He gives me a schoolboy smile, reclining in the chair. I stick my tongue out at him and he gives me an innocent look. Rodrick has put our wedding picture in a frame, over his own parent's wedding picture. I try and object, but he says that it's time to move forward. Marriage has mended the break in our relationship, has brought us into our true selves. It fits us. Like after a horrible storm, this marriage is the silence that follows, the beautiful silence.

Rapid knocking goes off. I wrap my arms around myself as Rodrick answers the door. It's Hazelle. She must've ran here, she's out of breath. The sight of Rodrick and I, in the clothes we're in, almost kills her. She looks like a frightened deer for a moment. Then, she says, "Wisteria, I think you should get dressed."

"Why? What-"

"Just hurry. Okay?" Something in her eyes, in her voice, makes me comply. I rush into the bedroom and slip on my reaping dress, now wrinkled. As I'm running out the door, Rodrick catches my hand, gives me a soft kiss, and tells me he'll be waiting here. I smile, hoping I won't be gone long.

Hazelle doesn't say much, only moves at a pace between a fast walk and a jog. She only asks if Rodrick and I are married. I tell her we are, and that seems to satisfy her. Maybe this will bring us even closer together, maybe we can become best friends, confide in each other, find strength in each other. Then, I realize that I'm turning Hazelle into Maysilee. And I stop.

Hazelle takes me to my house. The house of my family. There are a lot of people there, all dressed in black. They all eye me suspiciously, whisper amongst themselves. They don't pay attention to Hazelle. Something about it all gives me butterflies and I go inside, leaving Hazelle waiting outside.

The inside of my old home is crowded and damp. People are crying and patting each other in the way one pats another when they are grieving. This worries me even more, and I start searching.

"Mother!" I shout, finding her surrounded by grieving women. She eyes me angrily.

"Where have you been?" Her voice is on fire with fury.

"Mother, I-" I start getting nervous. "Didn't Daddy tell you?" She flinches. I'm confused, but I keep going. "Mother, I got married."  
She almost falls down, like I've hit her. "Married?! I didn't- How could you- I wasn't expecting... Where's Wheaton?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Why would Wheaton be here?"  
"Because you're _married_ to him?"

I almost start laughing, but the crushing sorrow in the air stops me. "Why would I marry Wheaton Mellark?"

Mother gets quiet, only looks at me with a strange glint in her eyes. "Then, who _did_ you marry?"

I take a deep breath, trying to gather the small amount of courage that I posses. "Rodrick Everdeen."

The women around us collectively gasp. Mother's eyes widen so far, I see too much white in them. She takes my wrist roughly and drags me upstairs. People stare at us, but she doesn't stop. Not till she's in my old room, with the door locked behind her, does she decide to slap me. I collapse onto the bed, clutching my face.

"How could you?" She screams at me. "How could you bring this, this _shame_ on us, at a time like this?!"

"What's wrong? What happened?" I say, trying to look up at her. "Mother, please-"

"_Silence_, Wisteria! Your father-" She gets chokes up for a moment. "Your father killed himself last night."

It's like another slap. Only worse. Only like the floor has fallen out from under me and I'm falling and Rodrick isn't there to catch me.

"But," I try to form a thought. "But-"

"But what? _What_?" She yells, almost accusingly. But all I can hear is Daddy. _No, Wisty. I have things to do_. And I know what those things were. And I could've stopped him. I could've saved him. I could've, I could've, I could've...

"Get out." Mother's voice is so tangible, so real. "Get out of my house. You're not my daughter, you're not part of this family." She starts rifling through the drawers, throwing random pieces of clothing at my confused arms.

"Mother, Mother," I try to talk to her. "Mother, please, let me help. Please, I'm sorry. Please, Mother."

But she doesn't notice me. She just keeps throwing clothes at me. Something thick and heavy finds its way through the air and into my arms. I don't know what it is. When everything is empty, she pushes me out the room, down the stairs, through the staring crowd, onto the street. Lying on the cold, hard ground, I look up at my Mother's incensed face. With a last contemptuous look, she spits on me, and leaves me in the dirt.

I start crying then. Hazelle tries to comfort me, but I'm just crying. Not for the loss of my Mother and sister, because I never truly had those to begin with. I'm crying for my Daddy. I'm so sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry that I'm so selfish and that I couldn't see, I'm so sorry.

After a while, I manage to wipe away my tears and gather up the clothes that are strewn around me. The heavy thing was an old book of herbs that my ancestors have long used. It must've been buried in my closet. I don't have the energy or the effort to open it. People are watching me from inside the house, but I try not to notice. I find Oak's jacket and I almost start crying for him too. But I don't because I don't think I could stop.

Hazelle walks with me to my home, my home. She doesn't talk, only wraps a strong arm around my shoulders and guides me. Good, because I think I'm about to fall over any second.

Rodrick is standing at the door. His face is worried. Hazelle leaves me and I start crying and it all spills over. Daddy, my Mother, my banishment. All of it. And Rodrick takes it all. Sometimes, it makes me so angry that I start hitting him. He takes it. Sometimes, I just pace and scream and cry. He takes it, and follows me with a soft piece of cloth to wipe my face when it gets hard to breath. Sometimes, I just curl up on the ground in silence. He takes it, and lays next to me, stroking my hair. He doesn't demand anything, doesn't expect anything. Rodrick is everything that is kind and patient.

The calm threatens to take over me, threatens to pull me back in it's cold embrace. But Rodrick's warm hands brings me back to reality. He kisses me and I let him, and then the fire of my body is stoked to protect me from the cold and I push myself against him violently.

And he takes it.


	12. Ch 12 - The Woods

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 12

_The Woods_

My honeymoon ends quietly. Rodrick never demands anything from me, just guides my hands as I try and rebuild my world. My mother doesn't speak to me, my sister doesn't come to me. It's just me and Rodrick, alone in the world.

After Rodrick goes to work again, I find how empty my days are. At first, I spend time mending and resizing Juliana's old clothes that Rodrick has bestowed upon me. I find it a little morbid, wearing the clothes of my dead mother-in-law, but I don't have much of a choice. They few clothes that I have from my other life, I store away in the bottom of my closet. Perhaps one day, my daughter will wear them and she will feel beautiful.

Only one thing escapes the closet: Oak's jacket. After seeing Rodrick reappear so many nights from the woods, chilled to the bone underneath his threadbare sweater, I force him to take the jacket.

"It's your brother's, I could never-"

"Yes, you could. And you will." The argument ends there and Rodrick wears the jacket almost all the time. Really, I think it was always meant for him. I think he dreams of the day he will give it to our son and he will feel strong.

But after all the clothes are mended, I am stilled. The house is too small to spend the day cleaning it. There's not enough food to spend the day cooking. I don't have any friends left. Hazelle is always at school and Margret has been bedridden since the reaping. I try making social trips into town, but I'm not strong enough to deal with the whispers and the stares. I end up crying and sleeping most days. Rodrick will come home in the evening, finding me curled up and leaking silent tears. He'll hold me and whisper in my ear and we'll be together again.

I think that's what started the doctor job. Rodrick must've been so worried for me that he told the entire Seam about my healing gifts. The patients come slowly and nervously, asking only for remedies for headaches or joint pain. Rodrick is more than happy to obliged to pick any herbs I need on his Sunday trips to the woods, aided by the detailed descriptions in my herb book. He suggests we go together, simply to be together, but the woods still frighten me.

As time goes on, the people of the Seam start trusting me. They come to me with serious problems. Spitting up blood, oddly colored bodily fluids, vivid nightmares, pains of the stomach, problems of the womb. But mostly, all I see is the skeletal bodies of the starving. This is a sickness that I can offer no cure for. Despite Rodrick's hunting and his job in the mines, we are barely surviving. There is never any to give away. I try and sustain them on greens and teas, but it is no use. I advise the family to take the patient home, where they can pass in peace. They don't believe me, spend the night searching the district for anyone capable of preforming a miracle. In the end, the patient dies anyway. Medicine is not a miracle. It's simply an action.

I am brewing up a tea for Greasy Sae, who's head is constantly aching, when Rodrick comes home one day. Like always, he is tired and stooped over, covered in coal dust and sweat. After work, he has to go to the woods and empty his snares and then distribute and sell them around the district. He's dead tired. But I still kiss him, tenderly enough to give him peace and hard enough to wake him up. He smiles at me tiredly, falls into his chair, and says, "They've given me a new shift at the mines."

"Mhm?"

"It means I won't be able to get to the snares before dark."  
"Oh, no!" I cross my arms worriedly. "What are you gonna do?"  
"Well," He says. "_You're_ gonna have to go, empty them, then give them to the right people."

"Rodrick, I-"

"Stop, Wisteria. It's not a question. You _have_ to."

"Rodrick, I can't go in the woods!" I try and convince him. "I'm useless!"

"No you're not!" Rodrick smiles, but I'm not laughing. "You'll be fine."

I glare at him. "What happened to the dangerous woods?" He shrugs.

"It's still dangerous. But I'm sure you can handle yourself." I just look at him like he's stupid, which he is.

"You're kidding?" I say. But he isn't. From now on, everyday, I go out in the woods and empty the snares. The dead animals freak me out, the woods give me goosebumps. But I do it. Rodrick has given me a list of people who will buy game and what game they will buy. It surprises me how many Peacekeepers make the list. They too are surprised to find me handing over their meat. They are nervous, for Caligula is still present and still just as watchful, if a little less aggressive. The trip around the district brings me home at the same as Rodrick. Then, as I prepare a small dinner, we watch the Games.

The Games are even more horrific this year, with Maysilee in it. Predictions of the winner has her and the other three tributes of District 12 at the bottom. There is no hope for her. In the opening ceremony, they are dressed in skimpy, risque versions of coal miner outfits. I shut off the television at this point. There is no dignity for Maysilee, all of her strength and beauty taken away as they project her body on the screen for the nation. One of the male tributes from our district, a Seam boy named Haymitch Abernathy, manages to stand out of the overwhelming wave of children ready to die. He is sharp, snarky, and rude. Just what the Capitol wants. Rodrick says that he knew Haymitch from association, though he had never actually spoken to him. He left a mother, a young brother, and a girlfriend. Each weeping for his certain death.

I am mulling over this as I'm walking through the woods. The sun is hot and strong, shining through the green of the canopy. Birds sing loud and beautifully, making me think of Rodrick as well. The air is cool and light. Flowers are still in bloom, vibrant and buzzing with bees and butterflies. I'm trying to detach a rabbit from a bundle of string when I notice something. It's dead quiet.

Perhaps some of Rodrick's instincts have come into me, but I know something is behind me. Slowly, so slowly, I turn around. A wolf-dog, who's golden eyes meet mine and he growls. Instantly, I'm running and instantly, he's chasing me. Suddenly, there are more and more and they all chase me and bite for me. My clothes and hair are caught by branches, torn by thorns. I try not to trip, but all I can think about is running and screaming and my heart is pounding and Rodrick, please save me, save me!

I see a tree with branches that might be low enough for me to reach, but too high for the wolf-dogs. I have no other choice. I run over and throw my arms in the, just barely catching the limb. I scramble up, the dogs right on my heels. One manages to grab my ankle. Sharp pain shoots up my bones and I kick the dog as hard as I can. He falls and I manage to get out of their range.

But they do not leave. They circle the tree, attempt to scramble up it's trunk, and lick at the blood that oozes from my ankle and falls on the ground. I examine the wound and it is dark and ugly. I start crying because I'm all alone and Rodrick will never find me and I will die out in these horrible woods.

The sun seems to fall behind the mountains much to fast. I am chilled to the bone, yet the dogs seem unaffected. I can't see them anymore, just the faint glint of their golden eyes. The moon is half-full tonight, but the light will do nothing for me now. I just curl up as tight as I can and try not to cry.

Suddenly, there's bright orange and red and yellow and heat. A wolf-dog yelps and falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out it's eye. The arrow is covered in flames, which quickly cover the wolf-dog's mangy fur. The others are in panic, barking and howling and running. More and more fall over, flaming arrows flying from the dark straight at their golden eyes.

And there's Rodrick, holding a huge bow in hand. The fire of the bodies dramatically lights up his face. His face, I don't know what to call it. It is so primal and unformed and untouched. He stands at the trunk of the tree, notches arrow after arrow, and shoots into the dark. Each arrow is followed by a yelp. He never misses. It's like he's saying, _This one is mine. You will not have her._

Eventually, he seems convinced that the pack is gone. He holds his arms up to me and I gladly fall into them.

"I'm so sorry." I start saying, the tears coming.

"No, I am." He interrupts me. "I should've never let you in the forest unarmed." And that's that. He carries me through the dark woods, finding his way around perfectly. Under the fence, through the Meadow, into the house. Inside, he slowly takes off my boot and dresses my wound, under my careful instruction. He gives me a bowl of insipid soup. I remember that I haven't eaten in forever and devour it. No doubt Rodrick is dead tired, but he does not say a word. Only tells me about the Games, which they broadcast to the miners at work. Nothing of real importance has happened, only training scores released. Maysilee has come up with a six, which is impressive considering how untrained she is.

Rodrick does not ask me to go into the woods any more. I would try if he did, but I don't think I could. Every time Rodrick goes, I am so tightly bound until he comes back. Nightmares haunt me, but I try not to worry Rodrick, who is trying to balance the mines and the woods. I'm doing my best to help, but things are about to get messy.

The Games start tomorrow.


	13. Ch 13 - The Start

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 13

_The Start_

I'm sitting alone in front of the T.V. The Games are about to begin. Rodrick will no doubt be on break, watching with the rest of his crew. Holding his breath, hoping Maysilee makes it out okay.

Caesar Flickerman, dyed dark green this year, is vibrant and smooth, as always. The Capitol has been vibrating with excitement for the second Quarter Quell. Many have never been alive for one and are curious to see how they live up to the hype.

"It's sure to be a Hunger Games that no one forgets." Caesar says with a brilliant smile.

_If you only knew_, I think. I'm clutching my dress tightly, I'm barely breathing. My leg still aches from the dog bite but I don't notice it. The camera takes the point of view as a tribute, rising up from the ground. As light blinds the audience, the arena slowly fades into view.

It's beautiful. Beyond comparison. I gasp and almost cry. The sparkling gold of the Cornucopia shimmer in a field of green grass. Flowers pop up naturally and beautifully. The sky is the color of my eyes, crystal blue. Perfectly puffy clouds lazily waltz across the sky. I see colorful birds flying between the branches of a thick, beautiful woods. The camera takes to the sky and the beautiful meadow looks huge and perfect. There is a snowy mountain at one end of the arena. It's all too perfect, too beautiful to be the place of a massacre.

Suddenly, the screen is filled with a countdown. Ten. I close my eyes. Nine. She probably won't make it past the Cornucopia. Eight. I hope she doesn't feel much pain. Seven. All those children, all but one will die. Six. Maybe I should just turn it off. Five. I should be with Margret or someone. Four. I shouldn't be alone to face this. Three. I can't do this. Two. Please, Maysilee, make it through. One. I open my eyes.

The beauty of the arena has dazed some of the tributes. When the gong sounds, many are confused and stumble. Not all. The Careers are focused and charge for the Cornucopia. Haymitch keeps his head as well, grabbing a backpack and weapons before disappearing into the woods. Maysilee is confused, but not for long. She runs for a small pack at the edge of the Cornucopia. All the tributes are running now. Some already lie dead on the ground. Maysilee grapples with a boy from Five over a small backpack before a girl from Two gets his with a knife in the back. Maysilee is splattered with blood and she looks dazed. The girl does not pay much attention to her, simply returns back into the fray. Maysilee looks at the dead boy in front of her, then runs into the woods, pack in hand.

No one pursues her. They are too busy with killing. The fresh green grass is drowned with blood. Eighteen children are killed in the bloodbath. The Careers are huge this year, taking control of all the resources within minutes of the start. They head towards the mountain, searching for the rest of the tributes.

I'm hyperventilating. I press a hand to my chest and try and calm myself. Maysilee is alive, she's okay. She made it through the bloodbath. There can't be much horror in this beautiful arena, can there?

They show clips of the surviving tributes, each running or hiding or hunting. Haymitch looks determined. Maysilee looks brave. The Careers look like a horror. Everyone else is bewildered by the woods, the meadow, the mountain.

A boy from Ten picks a glowing apple-looking fruit and takes a big bite. He almost instantly starts coughing and throwing up. Too late. His skin turns violent red and he falls on his side. Something wet is coming out of him. I gasp when I realize that he's melting, or something like that. The Careers hear his scream and laugh at his suffering. One of them has a brief flash of mercy and finish him off before the poison does. _Boom!_

A girl from Six is in the meadow, crouching among the flowers, quivering with fear. Huge butterflies float in the air. She ignores them. That is, until one of them violently attacks her with a sharp stinger. She cries out and bats at the insect. This brings more and more until her is covered by their colorful wings. When they finally fly away, she is bloated to twice her size. _Boom!_

This all takes place within a few hours. After that, they recap the deaths and I shut off the T.V. I'm trying to tell myself that this if good, that she's still alive. But it's no good. I don't really know what to feel at the moment, so I just sit there, staring at a smudge on the wall.

Rodrick comes home and I'm still sitting there. He talks to me and tries to comfort me and I try to listen but I can't do it. I just sit there.


	14. Ch 14 - The Last Time

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 14

_The Last Time_

Rodrick tries to comfort me. He tries to speak words that will encourage me, will strengthen me. But I can't listen. I just sit there in silence. And he lets me.

It's a horrible experience, watching someone you love fight in the Games. Because at the same time that you're wishing she wins, you're thinking about all of the families and the friends and the birthdays that they've had and the ones they will never experience and you think about all the girlfriends and boyfriends and all the first kisses and all the first loves and all the life in that one arena that will inevitably be taken. The waste of it, the horrible loss of children, it sickens me.

This is something I talk about with Rodrick. He says that for ages, the people of the Seam have been groaning under the burden of the mines and the pain of watching their children slaughtered. He says that all it will take is a spark and some bravery, that's all, and we can rise up again and this time, we'll win, we'll win. It scares me a little, the fire in his eyes. It makes me imagine him tied up to the whipping post again, or worse, the shooting range. It fills me with fear and I hope he's never the one to set that spark that will send the entire district, maybe the whole world, on fire.

Maysilee is doing brilliantly. Nothing is holding her back and I'm so proud, but so torn up because I know it can't last. And then I feel awful, because I either want it to end now or for her to kill them all, all of them, every single one. That's a horrible thought and I know it is, but I don't stop it from happening. Anyways, she has partnered with Haymitch Abernathy, which is good for her now but will prove troublesome. Yes, she is stronger with him, but she can never kill him, never. If she did... No, she couldn't if she had any dreams of ever coming home to face her district. She can't. And now she's stuck.

I'm sitting alone in my house. My leg has started healing and it aches and itches but I don't notice. I should make tea or something to calm me down, but I don't. I should start dinner but I don't. I can't, because I think something big is going to happen. Haymitch has been taking Maysilee in the opposite direction of the mountain, which has turned into a violent volcano. Caesar Flickerman has made some playful suggestions of why, but I see through that. There's something there that they do want want him to find. But I don't care too much.

Now, both of them are standing at the edge of a huge pit. This is the real end of the arena, nowhere else to go. Maysilee is telling him they have to go back, but he's not listening. _Just leave him_, I shout at her with my mind. _He's crazy! Just go!_

And she does. She tells him goodbye, how she hopes it won't end up being the two of them now that it's down to the final five. He doesn't do anything, just says okay, and gazes down into the pit. He kicks some pebbles into it and, wait, what's happening? They come back up, the pebbles, and-

The video feed warps, and we see Maysilee creeping through the woods. I glare at the T.V., so confused. What happened? Why did those pebbles jump back up to him? Something, something is not quite right. But I don't dwell on it long because Maysilee is screaming and there are birds, light pink ones with delicate and long beaks. But they're diving at her, trying to skewer her. She's trying to run but they surround her. My heart leaps to my throat and I don't think I'm breathing. She's pulling out her darts, but it doesn't do any good. They're all around her. I can almost hear the small noises of the distant, white room of Gamemakers as they command the birds to dive. Suddenly, there's Haymitch, bursting through the trees. But not soon enough. Not soon enough.

One of the birds spear her through the throat as the rest fly off. I'm sure now, I'm not breathing. Haymitch catches her as she falls. Blood is pouring out of the small hole, at a rate that cannot be stopped by anything in the arena, by anything out of it either. I think I'm crying and I don't stop, I don't. Haymitch holds her hand as she coughs up her lifeblood that leaks into her lungs. He doesn't say anything, she doesn't either. All he does is hold her hand and brushes her long blonde hair from her forehead. She looks so small and thin and weak. I'm suddenly struck by how lucky she was to make it this far. And I'm struck by the unfairness of this, I hate this, and I'm crying really hard now because I just want her to be next to me and I want to go back to before the Reaping before this all happened.

Rodrick comes home and I'm still crying. Well, no tears come out. I just make awful animal sounds and I'm curled up and hugging myself and my head aches and my bones are shaky but I don't stop and he doesn't ask me to, he knows, of course he knows, he holds me and murmurs things to me that are mostly nonsense and I don't pay attention, I just try and focus on his arms around me.

"This is it." I hear his low voice vibrate. "This is the last time you're gonna hurt, okay? I promise. I promise to always be here and make it better, okay? I promise. Oh, Wisty, I'm so sorry, Wisty..."

And it starts again. But I hold onto his promise because it's all I can grip. You'd think one who had the ground ripped from under her would be more prepared for when it happens again, but I'm not, I'm not that girl who has a grip on reality because mine is so fragile, so delicate, my reality is made of glass that is barely held together.

A day passes and I watch the Games with Rodrick on Sunday. Two more tributes are killed in the arena. The only ones that are left are Haymitch and a gargantuan girl from Two who is fierce and quick and terrifies me. But Haymitch is skilled and has proven deadly and I don't know what to hope for, because I don't know how it will end.

I'm boiling a pot of tea when the battle starts. The T.V. rages and I try not to listen but I can't and I'm gripping the pot so hard, I think I might break my skin. All I hear are shouts and screams and curses and the faint whispers of Rodrick as he coaches Haymitch through every blow, through every hit. I lean to see through the small doorway and I see him, Haymitch, covered in blood. The girl stands over him and slashes at him with her ax. His belly erupts and I see his intestines. They pulsate angry red and hints of purple and gray as he grips them and runs as fast as he can. He turns around and throws a knife at her that slices her head above her temple.

I manage to make it to the trash can before I throw up. You'd think a healer would be more prepared for this, but I'm not. The sight of two people so vehemently trying to kill each other, the effort to spill blood, the pure brutality of it, it's too much for me. I'm a healer, not a survivor, not a fighter, not a warrior, not a hunter. Rodrick hears me, but doesn't come. He's too engrossed and too invested. So, I wipe my mouth with my apron and shakily go back to the living room.

Haymitch is lying at the edge of his pit. The girl, she throws her ax and misses, the gold hilt of it shimmering as it disappears into the murky depths. She stands over him, her hand cupping her bleeding forehead. She'll outlast him, no doubt, she smiles as she looks down at him convulsing and vomiting, his entrails spread out around him.

But she doesn't. The ax comes flying back and buries itself in her head. _Boom!_ She falls and Claudius Templesmith announces that Haymitch Abernathy is the winner of the 50th Hunger Games. And a hovercraft appears and takes him away.

It all happens so quickly, so fast, and suddenly Rodrick has picked me up and is twirling me around his head and is cheering and laughing and I am too and I have to duck my head so I don't hit it on the ceiling but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, because Haymitch has won, so we have won. We won, we won, we won!

The following days are celebratory, are beautiful. People are laughing and smiling for no reason. People walk with a spring in their step. I see Mrs. Abernathy walk down the street, holding Coelis Abernathy's hand, accepting congratulations quietly and gratefully. She has endured the last few weeks with dignity and it has paid off. Stymela Corres, Haymitch's girlfriend, is alive again, laughing and shouting for joy. Nothing could break this thick blanket of happiness that has coated the weary district. Surely, we can have just a little peace, a little joy. Surely.

Haymitch goes back on to his interview and he looks so much better, the hollows of his face filled out and smoothed, his hair combed perfectly, his eyes bright again. This was clearly a popular Games, because the crowd goes nuts for him. And then, it's all over and he comes home.

It's a little overwhelming, the attention that attacks us. Cameras go up on every corner, filming the most mundane thing. Food pours in on Parcel Day and for once, there is plenty for everyone. Rodrick takes a break from hunting, because of the plenty and the excess attention. There are dinners and dances and parties but not many people go to those. They are happy to the point of terror and refuse to take that next step.

One day, as the attention starts to stem off, a knock on the door reveals Margret, dressed in a beautiful black dress. I don't know what to say, how to greet her, how to comfort her, and she doesn't help with that. In her arms, a small golden cage rests. In it, a yellow canary jumps around nervously, unsure of this strange new world.

"Maysilee," Margret finally says after eying me for a while. "She wanted... She wanted you to have this, didn't she? Didn't she?" She gets almost angry and shoves the cage in my arms.

"Margret, I-"

"Whatever, Wisteria." She turns and, in a flash of weakness, almost crumbles to the ground. I reach out to help her, but she just pushes me away. She doesn't look back, doesn't say anything. Just walks away. The sound of her shoes clicking against the dirty road echo too loudly.

I don't know how to react to this. I just hold the cage and watch her as she walks away, her black figure growing smaller and smaller before she disappears. The canary has calmed down a bit and is singing softly now. It's song is sweet and soft, rising and falling like the tides. I don't know when, but at some point I walk back inside and set the cage on the small kitchen table and sit and watch the bird fly across it's small territory. It's vibrant yellow is a little dull, but I believe the color will come back soon. It's spewing out simple melody after melody, nothing to marvel at, but pretty. This reminds me of Rodrick and I smile, and in my heart, I thanks Maysilee for giving me a little happiness before she died.

I think this will be the last time I get hurt like this. I think it will.

**Thanks all for reading! Request a follow on Twitter reallyuseawish. I think I might make a playlist for this story 'cause so much of it comes from music. I don't know, just throwing ideas out there**


	15. Ch 15 - Treacherous

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 15

_Treacherous_

A few weeks pass. All the camera crews have packed up and are gone. The banners have come down. Food still comes, but with less exuberance. I'm still enjoying it, though. A girl can get sick of just cooking rabbit and something that taste like grass all the time.

"Thank goodness for Parcel Day." I say one day as I stir a pot of chicken soup. With real chicken and real vegetables. Rodrick looks at me skeptically.

"What's wrong with rabbit and squirrel?" He asks.

"Oh nothing," I say casually. "If you get to just drop them off to someone and then magically come home to them turned into food. That's great." He laughs and I do to. "But some of us actually have to skin that thing, and that's gross, Mr. Everdeen. Gross." And then he makes a move for me and wraps an arm around my waist, growling and pretending to threaten me.

"Ungrateful!" He says, pretending to be furious.

"Exactly!" I laugh and we kiss. And when we eat the soup, I said how much better it would be if there was rabbit in it.

I sometimes see Haymitch walk around town. He's alone in Victor Village, besides his family. Old Coryna Taillac, our one other victor, died last year. He's alone, with no one who will understand. No one in town approaches him, congratulates hims. No one tells him how much we care about him, how proud we are, how we understand what he did. Because we don't. We will never be able to relate to him, never be able to get through to him. But his family, his girl, they might one day be able to soften his heart.

One evening, I'm finishing dinner and Rodrick is wiping his shaving mirror. He's anal about that, not even a little layer of coal dust can remain on it. Sometimes we look at each other and just smile, because we're together. And then, we hear it. Screams. Rodrick is up in a second, running out in the street and I follow him.

Smoke. Rising up from the other side of the district. Victor Village. People are running to the fire, because that's all we can do. If we don't stop the fire now, it will spread throughout the district and destroy us all. Fires are so common, yet so deadly here.

Rodrick and I are running as fast as we can. My hand is in his. When we get to the Village, Haymitch's house is in flames. People are shouting and throwing water on it, but most people have abandoned saving the house and have moved to destroying it. Men are attaching ropes to the house, thick fireproof ropes with metal hooks, and are pulling as hard as they can. Rodrick disappears and my heart starts to race. Sweat and smoke fill the air, groans of men and of lumber resonate. I can barely breathe and other people are running to get away from the smoke. It's thick and black and I bend over, coughing. There's no rhyme or reason to any thing, people just stand where they can and watch the building burn.

Then, there's a scream. I look up and people are surrounding something. I run over, push my way through, and I almost throw up. It's Stymela Corres, Haymitch's girlfriend. The men have laid her on the well manicured grass. Her body, no, what's left of it, is burned to a crisp. Not burned in a way that I or any other human can heal, not red and vibrant. Her body is cinder and ash, crumbling and black. Yet she's still alive, how is she still alive, she's crying, but it can't be from pain because all of her limbs are dead. She's crying and I sit next to her and I try and think of something to say, but I don't. I reach out and hold her hand, but it crumbles away.

The crowd parts, I look up, and a troupe of Peacekeepers make their way to us in perfect formation, Caligula out in front.

"Please, we have to help her." I cry.

"Out of the way, girl." Caligula says and orders the Peacekeepers to pick Stymela up.

"What?" I scream. "Are you crazy? You can't move her like this!" But he doesn't listen. They carry her anyway, her moans getting quieter and quieter. No one does anything, just stares. Maybe they mutter about it, about they complain, but no one steps up. The Peacekeepers disappear in the night, Stymela dying as they silently march away.

The crowd murmurs and parts. It's Haymitch, his eyes glassy as they reflect the flames that continue to eat his new home. If Stymela is dead, no doubt Haymitch's mother and brother are gone. There's nothing to be done, no one approaches him, no one tries to comfort him. He's not crying, at least, not in the way I do. Maybe his heart is breaking, maybe he's simply waiting for everyone to leave before he breaks down, but on the outside, there is no grief.

Eventually, the flames are dying in the street and the crowd begins to disperse. I find Rodrick and he's covered in ash, sweat, and little burns and splinters are everywhere. We walk slowly back home, not speaking. Back home, I slowly treat his burns with a soothing balm, pull the splinters out as painlessly as I can, that's when he talks. Not about anything particular, just talking. About the efforts to save the house, about the people hurt, about anything. Then he gets quiet. I think he's all worn out as I wrap up his hand in gauze. Then he takes my hand in his other one. I think he might be trying to comfort me, but his eyes are dark.

"Did anyone tell you what started it?" He whispers. Why is he whispering in our own house?

"No. Why?" I find myself whispering as well, unwilling to risk anything Rodrick is scared of.

"Well," he says. "People are whispering that the Capitol had it arranged."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"Wisty," he says like it's obvious. "That stunt he pulled with the pit, with the force field, you remember that?" I nod. "Well, they didn't intend for that. It made them look bad. And the Capitol doesn't like looking bad."

"But, still," I try and argue. "They couldn't, they wouldn't risk that-"

"Whatever, Wisty." He says, holding his hands out in defeat. "All I'm saying? It's suspicious." And he doesn't say anything more. I finish binding his hand and I sit in front of the fire. As I'm watching the embers change colors, I'm considering what Rodrick said. Surely the Capitol wouldn't, they wouldn't kill innocents just like that? And then I remember what we've been doing for the last 50 Games and I think they would, that's exactly what they would do.

The next morning, when I go into town, I see Haymitch walking around in circles like a drunk. That may have something to do with the empty bottle in his hands.

"Haymitch." I walk up to him to try and talk some sense into him. He turns to look at me and his eyes are unfocused and bleary.

"Whonisyuuo?" I can barely understand him. Scratch that, I can't understand him. I just come up beside him and say, "I'm gonna take you back to your house, okay?" But he manages to break out of my hold and staggers away as fast as he can. My eyes are still burning from the stink of alcohol that was all around him.

I sigh. Surely, there can't be anything wrong with a man grieving. A few drinks to take the edge off the pain can't do that much damage. I just think about how this all could've been avoided if he didn't use that stupid pit. Then, I realize none of this would've happened if the Capitol wasn't evil.

I hear Caligula's harsh laughter and turn to see him leaning against the bakery wall. He meets my gaze and smiles cruelly. My skin crawls.

I've decided something. I'm not going to be weak anymore. I'm going to do something. And I'm terrified of what might happen if I suceed.


	16. Ch 16 - Monster

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 16

_Monster_

"Does Caligula buy any of your game?" I ask Rodrick a few days after the fire as we're eating dinner. He looks up at me, dubious.

"Why?"

"No reason." I say nonchalantly.

"Wisty, you don't just ask for no reason. There's a reason." He lays his fork down, which is a big deal in this house.

"Seriously. I was just wondering."

"Wisty-"

"Rodrick." I lean over the table and take his hand. "You have to trust me, just for this instant. Okay?"

We look at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Then, he nods and says, "I never sell to him personally, but his cook buys squirrel from me every once and a while when the butcher is low on meat. I assume it's for Caligula."

"Why?"  
"Because he buys it at Caligula's backdoor." Rodrick smiles at me and I return it, because this is what I needed to know. "Wisty," Rodrick says, squeezing my hand. He looks like he's trying to think of something to say.

"What?" I say.

"Just... Just don't do anything you'll regret."And we don't say anything more about it. But we don't need to, because I'm ready for my plan.

The next day, when Rodrick comes home for the woods, I tell him I need him to go to town for me, to get something ridiculously unnecessary because I'm sick and I can't go for myself. I'm almost pleading with him in my mind. _See the trick, stop me, please, stop me_. But, of course, he doesn't. He's so stupidly understanding that he does it without thinking. As soon as he's gone, I glare at his game bag. Half of me is screaming to do it, do it, do it! The other half is weeping for me to stop, to stop, stop!

I find myself searching through the bag, finding three squirrels. The butcher is going through a shortage, I found that out this morning. Caligula's cook will need these as a substitute. My hands are shaking as I place them the table and begin searching through the shelves of herbs. Dusty jars and old tied up bundles crowd the corners. I'm beginning to panic when I find it. A small glass bottle, filled almost full of thick black-purple syrup.

I take hold of the bottle and it feels heavier than creation. In it is concentrated nightlock mixed with a little wine to mask the flavor. The amount in the bottle will kill a man Caligula's size in a few minutes, depending the distribution of the poison in his food.

This is all done by a cold, functional, mechanical Wisteria. This Wisteria pours the poison into the squirrel, gently wraps it in scratchy paper, and puts it in a small backpack. This Wisteria wraps a thick scarf around her head to hide her face. This Wisteria puts on the pack and walks as fast as she can into town, hoping no one sees her. This is the Wisteria that knocks on the back door of Caligula's house.

The cook answers it, a sweaty man with a round belly. "Where's Rodrick?" He asks suspiciously.

"He's sick." I lie easily. "I'm making his run today. You wanted squirrel, right?" I pull out the carefully wrapped body and hold it out for him.

He's still a little dubious. "Rodrick never wrapped any of his game."

"Well, Rodrick isn't me. I don't like touching dead things." I try to play the girly wife, the one who is only delivering her husband's game out of obligation. The one who is planning nothing.

The seconds pass by like years, my heart is pounding so loud that I'm sure the cook can hear it. But he doesn't he just nods, takes the squirrel from me, and drops a few coins in my still-waiting hands. And then the door is shut and I'm alone.

On the way home, I try and rationalize everything. Caligula is a vile man that is slowly squeezing the life out of the district. That cannot be denied. The square has run red with blood time after time for the punishment of crimes long forgotten. People hunch over in fear of being swept away by his fury. I'm not in the wrong, I'm not, I'm not in the wrong, I'm not guilty, I'm doing the district good, I'm doing good, I'm-

When I make it home, I don't even acknowledge Rodrick. I run to our room, shut the door, and start crying because I'm a monster, a killer monster who strikes out without good reason. No, not without reason. Every time I think about that, I see Stymela's scorched body, I see Rodrick dying on my kitchen table, I see blood running between the stones in the square. No, not without reason, but I'm still a monster, I'm still a monster, a monster...

I tear off my scarf, my jacket, and lean my forehead against the small mirror in the bathroom. I look into my eyes and I almost laugh because they are not the eyes of the killer that lies beneath them. I almost laugh and end up crying because somewhere in the district, Caligula is dying because of me. A man with a mother and father. A man who once was a child that laughed, cried, and played. A man that was a child that had dreams and hopes and nightmares and would be swept up in the arms of his father and laugh and a child that would be wrapped in the soft embrace of his mother. A child that turned into a man that I have now killed.

Rodrick comes in, his eyes glowing with concern. I don't say anything, I try not to cry loudly. He takes me in his arms and whispers soft, nice things in my ear. I wrap myself in his shirt that smells like Rodrick, which smells like the woods and the mines.

"I've done an awful thing." I mutter.

"Shh," he says. "It's okay. I'm sure it's okay."

"No, Rodrick, it's not. It's not okay. It'll never be okay."

He doesn't answer, just strokes my hair. I stop crying and I'm in that awkward sniffling phase of pain. I think about how broken I would be without Rodrick, his patience. How can this man, this boy really, have a never ending pool of patience to take care of me and yet be capable of taking lives? No, it doesn't count. He only kills animals.

I've taken the next step to murder.


	17. Ch 17 - Yellow

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 17

_Yellow_

Caligula's dead body is discovered the next morning. They say he died of heart failure, though whispers of revenge murder fill the streets. Never once does the blame come to me, no one suspects me. This is the worst part of the crime I have committed. Every time I go outside, I want to scream and confess and I want them to take me away because I'm a monstrous killer.

Eventually, a man named Cray replaces Caligula as head Peacekeeper. Cray is almost instantly disliked as much as his predecessor, for his habit of accepting poor women into his bed for payment. The idea makes my stomach churn.

I think Rodrick once or twice has thought I might have something to do with Caligula's death. But he never questions me about it. Maybe because it doesn't matter, maybe because I've made a small step for the district, maybe because he loves me too much to know the truth. These are all possibilities and it kills me.

Time goes by slowly. The district resumes its uneasy pace of turmoil and acceptance. It's hard for me, making the full adjustment to the Seam. Some days I wake up and think I'm living in a nightmare and I want to go to my large house and sleep in my soft bed and eat my expensive food and be happy. Then Rodrick strokes my hand and I remember, in my other life, I didn't know what happiness was. I remember that even the simplest, most insipid meal I could eat would be a feast if I'm sitting next to him. And everything feels better and bright.

Still, the Seam is still terrifying to me. Now that people have accepted my presence, I see their true sickness. Everyday, a line of the starving is at my door. And I am powerless to give anything to them, only tell them what they already know: they need food. But they can't get that food from anyone. And so, they wander the streets until the Peacekeepers come for their body, lying in the gutter or, if they're lucky, tucked in their old bed, surrounded by their mourning family.

The transition to the Seam has been helped by my rejection from the merchants. Diane has apparently linked herself to Wheaton, and she treats me cruelly any time she sees me. Wheaton is placid, maybe a little sad, though I'm not sure why. I'm sure Margret would speak to me but Maysilee's death has given her a terrible disease of the mind, of the heart, and she never leaves her home. Corren Undersee juggles between being groomed for mayor and taking care of her. My mother, Lily... I see them in town sometimes, but they pass me like I'm a stranger. Once or twice I walk all the way to the old house, convinced I'm going to confront them. But I don't. I lose my nerve at the front gate and just stand there, staring at the door.

But Rodrick is there. He is always there. Sometimes I cry to myself how lucky I am to have him because I would be lost without him. The perfect way he juggles the mines, the woods, and being a husband, I don't know how he can do it. We fight sometimes, that can be expected. Sometimes we scream nonsense at the top of our lungs. And then he wraps an arm around my waist and kisses me and the fire is kindled.

The district changes alongside me, though a bit more subtly. Haymitch has officially turned into the district drunk. One drink led to three which led to drinking all his sorrows away. Maybe someone should help him, maybe people try, but he rejects any attention we pour out to him. And each year, we end our children into the Capitol, with only Haymitch as their protector, and watch them get slaughtered. Some start holding a grudge, but most understand that everyone grieves in their own way.

One morning, I wake up slowly. The days have passed and turned to years. The bright eyed, 16 year old girl who walked through the door has turned into a twenty five year old who has found her place in this world. This morning, I rush as quietly to the bathroom before I throw up. I do it as quietly as I can, I don't want to disturb Rodrick. This has been happening for the last few days. Like clockwork, I throw up every morning. Even the idea of food churns my stomach. I'm thinking I have a stomach bug, but I don't want Rodrick to worry.

I manage to put myself together before Rodrick wakes up. With sleep still in his eyes, a course piece of bread in hand, he gives me a soft kiss on the cheek and walks out the door, headed for the mines. I slip on a simple brown shirt and white skirt and, after a few hours, I head out to town, buying supplies and food. I warily head into the Hob, the illegal black market that Rodrick sells most of his game at. The people are civil, for they know Rodrick, but the clandestine feeling of the place chills my skin. I head over to Greasy Sae and her soup kitchen, glad to find a familiar face.

"What'll it be, sweetie?" She asks.

"Whatever is hot and ready." She ladles me a bowl of dark brown soup. I take a spoonful in and it tastes like rabbit and dirt, mixed with grass. I shudder, but choke it down.

"Hopefully this gets rid of my stomach bug." I say.

"Feeling sick?"

"Throwing up every morning. Nausea." I shrug, but Greasy Sae looks dubious. She's about to say something when a small, gray-eyed child takes hold of my skirt and tugs. I look down and smile.

"Hello." I say as sweet as possible. "Where's your Mommy?"

"Gale!" I hear a familiar, if older voice call. "Don't bother-"

Hazelle is there, her black hair pulled into a ponytail, her clothes simple and wrinkled, but the light is still in her eyes. She seems almost embarrassed to see me and picks up the child, apparently Gale, and smiles tightly.

"Hi Wisteria."

"Hazelle." I try and say warmly. Not that we have any reason to not like each other it's just... We've drifted. "How are you?"

"Good. Well. Ian and I-" She pauses to get Gale to stop trying to put his hands in her mouth. "Ian and I got married a few years ago. This one," she hefts up Gale. "Is our first."

"He's lovely." I smile. "Hello Gale. Hi, I'm Wisty." He's too young, too shy to speak, just gazes at me with wide eyes.

"How's Rodrick?" She asks.

"Good. Working hard, as usual." I shrug not knowing what to say. She nods and we eye each other for an awkward moment. It takes Gale's fussy cries to get us to finally say goodbye. I turn around and Greasy Sae is still staring at me with a glint in her eyes.

"Wisteria," she says. "Can I speak to you about something personal?"

"Of course." I lean over the counter, expecting to be asked about medicine or something.

"As a _women_?" She asks again.

"Oh. Yes, of course." This is not unusual. Many women come find me for problems of the womb that they cannot solve. Even more come for the concoction to prevent pregnancy. However, Greasy Sae, with her hair turning steely white, seems a little old for either of these problems.

"When was your last cycle?"

I stare at her for a moment. When did this become about me? I'm about to redirect the conversation when I think about her question. My last cycle... I bring up a calendar in my mind and count the days. One, two, three...

"Almost a week ago." My voice is a whisper. She nods like she knew my answer.

"And you have morning sickness? Nausea?" I nod. "Any irritability? Mood swings of any kind?"

Last night, I yelled at Rodrick for spilling soup on his shirt. Then I cried because I felt overworked. That's not unreasonable, is it? My mind is racing and my heart is pounding and my mouth has turned into sandpaper. All the dots are connecting to one, glowing, shaking, horribly apparent answer.

I am pregnant.

I think I might start crying, but Greasy Sae reaches over and touches my hand. I look up at her and she's smiling wide.

"Congratulations." She says. "You deserve it."

And then the fear begins to settle and in it's place, a warm bright happiness begins to grow. The image of me, cradling a small baby close to me, of Rodrick bouncing him of his knee, of childhood lisps and sweet mannerism. It'll be a boy, I'm sure. A little boy to protect and love, who will one day grow into the spitting image of his father. A little boy, my little boy, my little... _Oak_.

I'm smiling now, so wide I can't contain it. I start laughing and tears squeeze out of my eyes. This is the first time that I've cried for joy, because I've had so little of it. But now, with this little promise that grows within me, the world has shifted into something new and bright and yellow.

I rush home, as fast as I can without running, because running can't be good for me. Once inside, I stoke up a small fire to chase away the September chill. Leaning into my rocking chair, I daydream about my new life. I'll knit, because that's a good past time for pregnant women. I'll cook soft foods. Rodrick will no doubt hunt even more to earn enough for a cradle, some baby things. I see him playing with little Oak, wrestling on the floor. I'll shout, telling them not to mess up my house, but I'll only be kidding because they make me smile.

The sun is setting. I haven't started making food or anything, I've just been sitting and thinking. Rodrick walks through the door, covered in layers of sweat and soot. He looks at me quizzically.

"Everything okay?" He asks. I dumbly nod. "Well, um, I brought some katniss home. I guess I can heat that up really quick." He's thinking about food, that's all he's thinking about. Of course he is, he can't suspect this. Maybe some wives come up with creative ways to say these things, but the words just erupted out of my mouth.

"I'm pregnant."

His jaw drops and his hands freeze at they reach into his game bag. I wait for him to say something, but it doesn't come. A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks, which is quickly followed by a glowing grin.

"You sure?" He asks.

"Positive."

"Like, a hundred percent?"

I laugh. "More like... eighty. But yeah, very sure."

His grin fills his entire face. In a rush, he's in front of me, lips pressed to mine. A laugh forms between us and he takes my face in his hands, touching foreheads.

"I love you, Wisty. So much." I look into his eyes and they're so beautiful, gray turned silver in the dark. The eyes of the one person who has ever taken all of my heart and given me so much.

"I love you, Rodrick." The words come easy and we kiss again. Yes, I love you, Rodrick. I love you and you love me and together, that love formed into the little creature that lives inside me. With a piece of you and a piece of me, we've made another human being. We've made our son.

** Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon. And I should really stop naming them after songs.**


	18. Ch 18 - At Last

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 18

_At Last_

"Do you want some more soup?" I ask Rodrick, turning around. My stomach knocks his bowl off the table before he can respond.

"Ugh!" I shout in frustration. "This stupid thing! Get out!" I yell at baby Oak in me, who has now swollen to a gargantuan size. "Come on! Come _out_!"

Rodrick chuckles as he leans down to pick up the shattered pieces of bowl. He's doing the best he can, but I can tell that he's ready for Oak to be born too. From September to today, May 7th, I've slowly gotten fatter and fatter and, with that, more and more irritable. I was never easy to handle before, now I'm like a monster ready to devour anyone and anything in my path. A monster who demands to eat the most random thing at the most inconvenient time. The morning sickness doesn't happen every day now, but I have to pee more or less all the time instead. My legs, my back, everything aches from this huge _thing_ inside me.

"It'll happen soon." Rodrick says. "It's been about nine months, hasn't it?" I nod and I swear I see him sigh in relief. I smile at him, trying to tell him how I'm grateful for all he's done, which is a lot. In our bedroom, a beautiful cradle sits. Soft blankets, warm clothes, even a small teddy bear. All this and more, Rodrick has scavenged for. It can't be easy and I'm so proud of him.

Rodrick leaves me in the morning with a soft kiss. I sit in the living room, struggling to knit a pair of booties. Several attempts have led to nothing but a bunch of knotted string. It's tedious, but relaxing. Apparently, when you're pregnant, people like to make food for you, clean your house, do little things to make you feel better. A few of the neighborhood housewives drop by every once in a while to help me, and it's incredible. Mostly because I don't have to work, but also because I get to see the incredible kindness in the women of the Seam.

I'm struggling to get up and go to the bathroom when something warm and wet trickles down my legs. I think I've gone to the bathroom on myself and start to blush, but then something grabs my stomach and squeezes. I gasp and almost keel over. I place a hand on my belly. Somehow, I know, I just know.

Oak is coming.

I waddle as best I can to the bedroom, taking deep breathes. Of course, this would be better with some help, but I think I'm capable of doing this by myself. Another contraction hits and I can't hold back the scream that shoots out my mouth. I lay gasping in the sheets, sweat already clinging to my brow. I imagine Oak, eyes closed, little hands curled in determination, positioning himself to enter the world.

A series of quick knocks on the door breaks my daydream. Without me saying anything, women pour through, some primal force in them telling them that it's happening. They find me and go to work, boiling water, getting me positioned right. Someone takes hold of my hand. It's Burrna from next door. Her gray eyes are calming.

"Don't worry." She says, wiping a cool cloth across my forehead. "You're doing fine."

With all these women who've gone through this so many times, I stop trying to focus. I only feel the contractions, each wave of pain getting deeper and stronger. A haze covers my vision and I start seeing things. I see Daddy, standing over me with a noose wrapped around his neck, his eyes all white. I see Caligula standing at the bottom of my bed, nightlock juice oozing from his mouth, his hands ready to take my baby. I see Juliana, she has my hand, not Burrna. She's so pale, all the blood drained out of her that night she died. She doesn't say much, just gives a subtle smile.

She stands and I see her belly is still cut open, a ragged and gaping red maw of dead flesh. Suddenly, it's a mouth named Christopher filled with teeth and it lunges for me. I scream and cry out for Rodrick. A voice tells me someone has gone for him at the mines. I'm panting, covered in sweat, my back arching with the pain. Everything slowly is swallowed by an all-consuming fire that spread across the room. The flames are glowing red and orange, like the flames that destroyed Haymitch's family and home. Slowly, slowly, it eats its way to me, filling my body with red pain.

I scream loudly as a huge wave of pain hits me. Then, there are two voices screaming. I fall back on the bed, and the visions fade. The women are in a swarm, bustling in a huge circle. They pass a small, screaming bundle till it slowly finds its way into my tired arms.

"Oak..." I manage. "My boy... My son..."

"No," Burrna says. "A girl. A beautiful, healthy girl."

There is a shock, like being dipped in icy water. I look down and the baby is crying loud. My body responds and I find myself pressing my breast against the child, who suckles immediately. I open up the swaddling and yes, it's true. I have a daughter. Ten fingers, ten toes. Bright pink skin, wrinkled but soft. Dark hair lays on her head. Like her father.

"My girl..." The coo comes slowly. "My little girl. My precious, beautiful girl..." I didn't think of a girl's name. I don't know what to call her. But it doesn't matter. Because she's right here, pressed up against me, needing me, so tiny and so delicate. So perfect.

I hear a noise, Rodrick's voice, a women telling him that she won't allow him tracking all that coal dust into the baby's lungs. I hear water splashing across a hurried face and then he's next to me, his hair damp and his skin clean. He's looking into my eyes, joy pooling into little gray puddles that overflow and spills onto his clear face.

"Wisty..." And that's all he needs to say, because I stop him with my lips and he tastes salty and happy. He smells like Rodrick, but something has changed. In him, in me. It's like some missing piece that we never knew existed has been added to our hearts. Rodrick leans over and kisses the baby's forehead.

"What should we call her?" My voice is soft, not wanting to overpower the delicate noises of my baby feeding. Rodrick doesn't look like he heard me, just lays a gentle hand on her small head. Then he says, "Katniss."

I'm a little dubious. "Isn't that something you eat? Like a potato?" He laughs a little.

"It's a flower too. White, small, but pretty." He looks back down at our baby. "As long as she can find herself, she'll never go hungry." The smile that grows on his face tells me that the name is permanent and I have to agree, I kind of like it. Although, I don't see my daughter wandering the forest, searching for a meal.

"Welcome home, Katniss Everdeen." I whisper.

"She looks like you." Rodrick says. But I think he's wrong. Maybe the beauty that people say I posess has made it's way to her, but if I couldn't find it in me, I can't find it in her. But Rodrick lives in her. In her hair, her soft gray eyes, her defiant chin, her sharp nose. The wild beauty of Rodrick, the Seam, the woods, all live in her.

The world has faded from view. The only people left are the Everdeen family. At last, we are together. The Everdeen family has finally been completed. My mind wanders to the former Everdeens. Juliana, Christopher, and little Rodrick. But unlike them, we will last. We will always be together. My shining husband, my beautiful daughter. At last, happiness can be made permanent in this home.


	19. Ch 19 - Little Things

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 19

_Little Things_

"Katniss, come on, just- No, sweetie, it's time to get dressed."

"No, Mama!" She says stubbornly. "Wanna stay in 'jamas." She wraps her arms around her chest, grabbing her hand-me-down pajamas and holding them tight.

"But you 'jamas have to sleep." I say, trying to convince her with bright eyes and a brighter voice. "You have to let them nap. Then, when you get ready for bed, they'll ready to wake up and wrap you up all warm."

Katniss looks at me dubiously. "Mama, I don't think that's true."

"Trust me. It is." Still a little unsure, she barely lifts her arms to let me change her into a plain brown frock.

Katniss has all the stubbornness of her father, every ounce of it. With that, she has every ounce of his life, his spark, his fire. It's incredible how they click together, how they can go on and on about something for hours. Like Rodrick, Katniss is content to sit and brood if allowed too. Yes, you heard me right. My three year old likes to _brood_.

It's incredible how motherhood has changed me. Yes, sometimes I want to rip out my hair and scream and cry and shout. But the rest of the time, there's this blissful happiness that fills my soul. Katniss, the little things she does, the way her eyes crinkle before she sneezes, the way she says thank you, the face she gets when we have rabbit, the outline of her face when she comes into our room after a nightmare, all these things add up to this perfect child of mine.

Rodrick is doing his best to manage being a father, a husband, a hunter, and a miner. Some days, I scarcely see him except for his kiss goodbye in the early morning and this kiss when he comes home, which may be long before dinner or in the late hours of the morning. But he does his best. He brings me bright flowers from the Meadows, mostly wisteria and katniss.

And he sings again. The songs of our courtship, if you can call it that, make a reappearance, simple but beautiful melodies filling our home's air. In the mix, lullabies float by to Katniss, just as lovely. As soon as she learned to speak, she learned to sing, and revealed she has the voice of her father as well. My favorite is song about a beautiful meadow where troubles fade, sung to children with more troubles than they deserve. Rodrick sings this a lot, and despite the fact that the comfort is only short, Katniss doesn't mind.

Sometimes, I wonder how I, a weak, delicate, golden girl, could give birth to this strong, beautiful, raven haired, golden throated little wonder. I wonder that a lot.

Once dressed, I take Katniss out to town, carrying her when her independence wavers. Mostly, I let others marvel at her. Mostly, it's the usual compliments one gives to another's child. But sometimes, when a real friend sees her, they speak about her precociousness, her sweetness, her gentleness. I hope these traits come from me and I hope that the life in the Seam doesn't stamp them out of her.

In the Hob (which I try to avoid going to when I have Katniss because of it's illegal status, but there are some times I can't do anything about it), as I'm running some cloth between my fingers, a voice says, "She's lovely."

I turn around and I know who it is. Hazelle. Dressed in faded clothes, she looks a million years older, though no wrinkles cross her face and no silver shines through her black hair. By the slight curve of her belly, I can see another Hawthrone baby is on the way. Holding her hand in a now five year old Gale, at the age of bold inquisitiveness, looking up at me with bright gray eyes.

"Hazelle." I say as I embrace her with one arm, balancing Katniss on my hip with the other. "Hi Gale." I smile down at him. Katniss buries her face in my hair, quickly turned shy by the strangers.

"Hi!" Gale speaks with a loud, clear voice. "How do you know my name?"

"I met you a long time ago." I tell him. "Me and your mommy... We're old friends." I share a look with Hazelle, and a smile tells me she feels the same.

"Oh." He thinks for a minute, then bursts out and says, "I can cross my eyes, wanna see?" Before I can answer, he's trying his hardest, focusing on the end of his nose with a look of intense concentration. I laugh and say to Hazelle, "He's precious."

"Yeah," She says with a smile. "At least, when he's not fussy or trying to convince me to let him stay up or upset or angry. But yeah, besides that, he's a prefect angel." She shrugs the shrug of a mother enchanted and asks how Rodrick is doing.

"Oh, fine." I shrug the shrug of a women in love. "Working really hard. I think he's worn out but he doesn't show."

"There's nothing they can do. They have to work until they drop, for all of us." She nods her head and I remember how she's a miner's wife and a hunter's wife as well. Rodrick sees Ian in the woods every once in a while, setting up his elaborate traps and snares. I tell Rodrick it would be smart to team up, but something male and stupid tells the two to try and compete with each other. Maybe when they grow up and get some sense.

"How far along are you?" I gesture to her belly.

"Oh," She readjusts her weight. "Just a few months. I'll deliver sometime next year."

"I'm sure you'll do great." I smile.

"Yeah, I just can't imagine two of _these_." She looks down at Gale, still trying to cross his eyes, his face bright red from the effort. I laugh and turn to let Hazelle get a better view of Katniss.

"Wanna say hi, sweetie?" I ask. She raises her head a bit and waves at Hazelle, who smiles and waves back.

"I wanted to ask you something." Hazelle says as she puts her hand down. "How do you... Do you let her watch the Games?"

I take in a gasp. We hardly discuss the Games in the house. Katniss asks questions and I'm always so stunned that Rodrick has to jump in to save me. We let her watch it, only because she has to, only because we've heard of teachers questioning students, even young ones, about the Games and finding the families of those who don't know about them. We let her watch it and it strikes terror in my heart, the effect it might have on her.

"I-I-I..." I try and find a voice.

"Mama lets me watch them." Katniss speaks up. "But she doesn't like it. Papa says that they're evil, that the Capitol is mean and bad to us, that-"

"Katniss!" I manage to shush her. My heart is racing and I feel the fiery blush in my cheeks. But Hazelle doesn't look judging, she just nods like she understands.

Leaning close to me, she whispers, "You have to make sure she understands the consequences of saying things like that. You have to." She puts a soft hand on my shoulder, then pulls Gale away, despite his protests that he hasn't been successful in crossing his eyes yet.

I rush home as fast as I can. Katniss helps put away the few things we bought as I try and form some kind of explanation for keeping the talks we have at home private. After deciding that there's nothing right to say, I simply set her on the table.

"Katniss, sweetie," I begin. "That thing you told the lady at the Hob... You can't tell people that."

"Tell people what?" She asks.

"About the Capitol. The Games. Anything your Papa and I might say." I rub my forehead. "About them, that is. You can't tell people the things we say about the Capitol or the Games." I finally manage.

"Why?"

"Because... Because..." I sigh. "Because we'll get in big trouble. _Big_ trouble." I emphasize.

"Like what?"

I look down at my daughter, her gray eyes bright and big, her face fresh and innocent. There's something so strong and good in her, something so different from the world we live in. And I'm afraid that if I don't scare her now, something awful will happen.

"For starters," I say. "You'll never be allowed to sing again." The effect is immediate. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes, then pour down her face. Her sobs are a mixture of painful noises and pleadings like no, please, mama, please, I won't, I won't. Do I take her into my arms, stroke her hair, and murmur comfort her like I should? No. No, I can't. Not yet.

"Yes. You'll never be allowed to sing. _Ever again_. Then..." I think hard about this. "Then they'll take me and Papa away to some place awful and you'll never see us again, _ever_. Do you want that? Do you?"

"No, Mama! No, no, no!"

I take her face in my hands and force her to look in my eyes. She's sobbing now, tears and mucus running down her face. "Then," I command. "Never, ever, repeat what me and Papa say about the Capitol or the Games. Ever." She nods, but I have to be sure. I grab her by the chin and force her gray eyes to look into mine.

"Do you promise? Promise me, Katniss!"  
"I promise, Mama!"

Now I can take her in my arms, comforting her gently. She hugs me tight, like she'll never let me go. I pry her off and wipe away her tears and snot with the edge of my skirt. I murmur soft and lovely things to her, trying to quiet her soul. Eventually, I start to sing the meadow lullaby, which she shakily joins. Soon, the house is filled with her beautiful voice.

I am terrified of what the world will do to my daughter. I am terrified of how they will destroy the good in her. I am terrified of how far they will test her strength. I am terrified and there is nothing that I can do to protect her.


	20. Ch 20 - The Cave

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 20

_The Cave_

I hold Prim in my arms as I help Katniss get ready for school, though she protests and reminds me that, being six, she's a big girl and can dress herself. Prim, a much more mild-mannered two year old than Katniss, sighs and squirms. I set her on the ground and she looks up with a bored face. I smile and shrug at her.

I found out I was pregnant again a few days after I yelled at Katniss. Though I was sure that this time I would have a son, I proved wrong again. Primrose was born and became the perfect image of me, like Katniss is of her father. Where Katniss was thrilled when Rodrick took her to the woods, Prim is terrified of the woods with it's strange noises and dark shadows and menacing fence. Instead, she has been keeping me company as I treat my patients. I have a feeling she will grow into a great healer, but maybe that's me being optimistic.

After Katniss leaves for school, I take Prim with me as I go into town for supplies. Even after two years of life, people still marvel at Prim. She's truly delightful, while Katniss has shown how sullen and quiet she can be. With Prim, people genuinely love her.

When I stop in front of the bakery to examine the decorated cakes in the front window, a young boy about Katniss' age runs out the door, his thick blonde hair flying. Diane, aged and large after giving birth to three sons, sticks her head out the door and yells at him to run faster. She meets my staring eyes and snarls in contempt. I blush and walk away, giving the cakes one last glance. Past the display, I see Wheaton behind the counter, looking at me with a remembering smile. I give a small smile back, than hurry away.

As I'm buying soap in another shop, a man with merchant eyes and dark hair runs up to me, out of breath.

"You're... You... You're Wisteria, yes? Ever.. Everdeen?" His words are choppy and uneven. I nod my head.

"You've got... You've got to come with me." He takes my arm and tries to pull me out of the shop, but I rip my arm from his grasp. Prim pulls herself close to my legs, hiding herself in my skirt.

"Where? Who sent you?" I say.

"Your sister."

This sends me into such a shock that I don't protest when he pulls me again, I just take Prim into my arms and we're off. As we head into the merchant side of town, the houses are terrifying and familiar. When we are standing in front of my old home, I'm blindsided by the memories that run at me. Of Rodrick and me meeting for the first time on the doorstep, of us working together to stop the green fever. Of me mending his bleeding back and my heart. Of all those days when he dropped off herbs and greens. Of me, crying in front of the house, as my family rejected me.

I shake my head and push through the door, Prim clinging to my shoulder. My childhood home has turned to ruin, thick cobwebs growing in the door frames, the smell of mice and decay is overpowering, the paint has chipped away into nothing. Mother, who once was the main caretaker of the house, has no doubt died by now and, despite myself, I can't find the pity to feel grief. As I climb the stairs, they creak and scream in protest. I instantly walk into my old room and I gasp.

Lily is lying in the bed, sunken in the thick covers. Her hair is thin and strewn around her face like a veil. Her eyes are dull and fall deep into her face, making her look like a skeleton. Her fair skin is turned gray in the dim light. There's a horrible stench that wafts from her. By her look, I assume she is crippled and I wonder how she goes to the bathroom. I bet she doesn't know either.

I slowly walk to her side, kneeling in front of her. Prim, scared silent by the situation, tries to get away, but I hold her still. Lily is saying something, but her voice is failing so I lean over and put my ear close to her mouth. I can finally make it out.

"I'm sorry."

And in that moment, I could do so many different things. I could laugh at her, I could cry, I could just walk away. I could do all these things and I'd be totally justified. But looking down at my sister, so sick and so crippled and so doomed to die, I can't muster the strength to shut her out like she shut me out. It's like she's come out of the cave of hatred for the few days, maybe _hours_, of life she has left and I have to decide whether to embrace her or send her back.

Really, I don't know how to do anything. I don't know how to respond to this, I never expected it. In the end, I just take her hand and start talking. I tell her about Rodrick and how wonderful he is and how I don't deserve him. I tell her about Katniss and how strong she is and how I hope I can be like her. Then, I set Prim in front of me, slip her hand in between mine and Lily's, and say, "This is Primrose. She's two."

Lily looks into Prim's face and it's such a contrast. The fresh and new with the dead and gone. But Lily's eyes begin to shine and she smiles, revealing a ghastly black hole for a mouth. And yet, there is a look of happiness and peace on her face that makes her all the more beautiful. And I'm happy, so blissfully happy, that I've made peace with my family.

Even if it is just as she dies.

**Thanks for reading. Coming towards the end soon... Dun dun dun. Also, I recently posted a Percy Jackson and the Olympians story. It's called, "Aspasia Williams and the Darker Woods". Go check it out.**


	21. Ch 21 - Bottom of the River

**I don't own Hunger Games.**

CHAPTER 21

_Bottom of the River_

I'm trying to hold Prim still as I braid her hair. Her thick curls are tangled and she squirms in protest of my attempts to detangle them before braiding. I hush her and try and be gentle. Katniss, sitting right next to her, has become a pro at braiding her own hair and could do it in her sleep. Rodrick comes in, tucking his shirt down his pants in a rush.

"I'm late." He says quickly. "Gotta go." He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, whispers I love you in my ear, does the same for the girls, and then he's gone.

Katniss is off to school, Prim's hand clasped tight in hers, and I take up my knitting. I never thought I would knit, at least, not while I was still under forty, if only by a few years. But I do it to pass the time in between patient calls.

I sit in front of an open front door, watching the sun rise slowly over the wispy branches of trees. The clouds around it are stained red, the sky turned vibrant orange. I remember some old saying from worlds ago. Red in the morning, sailor's warning. Maybe that had some worth to seafaring people, but here in District 12, a red sky is only a pretty sight.

Time passes by slowly. A few patients show up, but I can't do much for them. A starving child, a frail elderly women, a bony women in a fitful sleep, there's nothing to do. Nothing to do but slowly ease them into death with the little that I have. By noon, I've seen four people into the endless sleep and knitted three pairs of socks for Rodrick. It's made of a warm, thick yarn that I once made into gloves for the girls. They hardly got to wear them because he was so enthralled by their warm depths. Maybe it's silly of me, but of the few things I can give to my husband, I'd like to think a pair of new socks is one of the nice things I can do.

I'm starting on a scarf when man named Cred from Rodrick's mining crew comes running up to the house. He's still in his mining clothes, coal dust staining them, sweat dripping down his olive toned skin. But his face is something I've only seen a few times. Pure, distilled terror.

"Mrs. Everdeen, you, you need to, you have to..." He starts stuttering so bad and I think he's shaking. I get up and wrap an arm around him.

"Cred," I say slowly. "Breathe. Come inside, I'll pour you some water, and we'll talk about whatever-"

"No, we can't!" He breaks away from my embrace. "We have to go to the mine. Now!"

"Why?" Confusion colors my words innocently.

"Mrs. Everdeen," He's in my face now, gripping my arms. "There's been, there's been... There's been an accident."

I can't really describe that feeling. The feeling of a wrecking ball tearing through the wall that you've carefully built, piece by piece, so delicate, just to protect the things you can't live without. Cred is talking fast now, telling me Rodrick and the rest of their crew are still in the mines and that they're pulling them out as we speak and I need to get there now, come on Mrs. Everdeen, hurry, we have to get there now! Are your daughters in school? Are they? Someone will send for them, don't worry, everything will be fine.

And I'm standing in front of the opening of the mine, alone and untouched. Families are huddled together, holding each other to give them strength. But I'm alone. The mother in me should worry, should think about my daughters, but I can't because that part of me is consumed by the torrents of the storm that is, where is Rodrick, where is Rodrick, give him to me, give him back to me, give me my Rodrick! _Give him to me now_!

Men come through the tunnel one by one, each a little more sweaty, a little more covered in dust, a little closer to passing out, but each alive and each gratefully received by mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, wives, and children. Suddenly, Katniss is holding my hand and Prim is holding the other. They're saying things, Prim is crying, but I can barely muster the strength to look down at their terrified faces. Katniss looks into my eyes and mutters something to quiet Prim, something coming into her face that speaks of suspicion, of questioning, of anger.

Why aren't you doing anything, Mama?

Why aren't you helping up, Mama?

Why did you let Papa go, Mama?

Why aren't you bringing him back, Mama?

These are no doubt her questions, because these are the things I'm asking myself.

I think I see Hazelle standing nearby, three young boys huddled around her. Her belly is so swollen, the doctor in me worries that the stress could trigger her labor. But the doctor in me is lost as well. Everything is lost except for one thought.

_WHERE IS RODRICK?_

There's a rumble beneath our feet and four men appear out of the mouth of the mine, coughing and dusting themselves, telling us that there's no one left. No sirs, I think I say. You're confused. My husband, my husband isn't out yet. My husband is still in the mind. Would you get him for me? My husband, he's still in the mine. My husband, my husband, he's in that mine, my husband's in the mine, get him out, get him out, get me my husband! My husband is still in the mine, go get him!

Hazelle is crying, weeping, embracing her children who are stunned into tears. Her husband is still in the mines as well. Excuse me sirs, you're not doing a very good job because you left two men in the mines. Katniss is screaming something, Prim is sobbing. People are whispering and pointing, some come up to offer help.

"Where's my husband?" I say, my breath falling short of my lips. "Where's my husband? Where's Rodrick?"

Cred appears next to me, tears in his eyes. Wisteria, I see this word on his lips. What does it mean? Wisteria. I don't get the chance to answer because I start falling. Cred reaches out and grabs me, but I'm still falling, I'm falling so fast. My hair shoots up past my face, my dress flying in the wind. I falling, falling, so fast that I don't think I'll ever stop.

As I fall, birds fly off past me, shooting like stars. Everyone I ever loved, they all fly away, giving cries of sorrow and pain. One bird, a black one with bright gray eyes, tries to get to me, but the wind fills his wings and he's swallowed by the darkness around me. Still, I feel him struggling to get to me.

Save me, Rodrick. Save me. This is all I'm thinking, because I don't think I have the strength to save myself. No, I know I don't have the strength to save myself. I never did, I never had to, Rodrick was always there, always ready to defend me, always ready to save me. But now, that's over. In my fall, somewhere along the flight, I hit water. Cold, painfully cold water that seeps into the pores of my skin and the crevices of my bones and pulls me deeper and deeper into it's embrace. I'm choking, I'm drowning, Rodrick, save me, take me in your arms and take me away form here, save me. But I've stopped hearing things as well. I'm as the bottom of this cold, painfully cold river and all that I am is cold and black. Cold and black. Cold. And. Black.

Hands touch me in the black. Voices, warped and garbled through the darkness, try to reach me. But nothing, nothing can save me. Because the one thing that could save me, the one thing that has ever been able to save me...

That thing is gone now. Gone, and I will never see it again.


	22. Ch 22 - Everything Has Changed

**I don't own Hunger Games. Alright guys, last chapter!**

CHAPTER 22

_Everything Has Changed_

I open my eyes slowly. Age has crept into my bones, making me slow and clumsy. It seems like only yesterday that I was young, falling in love on a doorstep and losing it in front of a mine. But it wasn't. It was a long time ago.

I get up slowly and dress. The weather in District Four has called for a totally new wardrobe for me, shorter dresses, thinner fabrics, less coverings. It's been a huge adjustment these many years. But I have endured it.

I work with the doctors here, making medicines, attending to patients. The cold contempt that the people of District 13 showed me has vanished in the hot sun. Here, people respect my knowledge. No. People respect my _wisdom_. I'm old enough to use that term, aren't I?

Anyway, my knowledge has little place here, where the water rages and beats against the land. No, an old women from District 12 is not meant to be here. But the people welcome me anyway, and for that I am grateful.

Maybe the do it for Katniss. The day she volunteered for Prim, she has changed my life in ways I never thought possible. Katniss, this precious little girl who grew into a teenager who hated me like I hated myself and then grew into this astounding women of fire and strength, the women I always knew she would be. This women capable of doing so much and suffering so acutely. This women, this daughter of mine, has changed everything for everyone.

I think she resents me. In her letters, I can't find any outright hatred like in the years following Rodrick's death. I only find hesitant love and understanding nostalgic. But sometimes, after reading both hers and Peeta's letter, I feel like they expected more of me. They needed something from me. They felt ignored by me. Maybe I'm just making this all up, but these things bother me.

And I try to explain. In every letter, I try and explain. I try and tell them how just the sight of the trees in 12 regrowing from the bombing, the sight of the flowers in the Meadow, the smell of fresh kill Katniss would bring from the woods, the sight of Katniss herself. All of this would break me again and I would start falling again. I would start falling, and this time, I would not hesitate to stop the fall myself.

Still, I hope she understands. She asks me things sometimes. About my life before I met Rodrick, my life while I was married to him, my life now. I do my best to answer her. I tell her about Lily, about my parents, about the merchants. I mostly tell her about Rodrick, though. How much they're alike. In the curve of their nose, the wave of their hair, the way they both always look left, then right when they're drinking water, as if they expect something to jump out at them. The way they both give gigantic yawns, throwing their arms above them, and pushing them up as far as they will go. I tell her everything I can, I tell her everything I feel, I tell her everything.

The day goes by like a blur. My memory is not what it once was, I can hardly remember everything that I do in one day. When I get back to my small house, a single letter waits on my doorstep. Creakily, I bend down and pick it up.

When I open the package, a photograph tumbles out. It shows Katniss, exhausted and sweaty, but as beautiful as ever, holding a small bundled baby in her arms. I gasp and I don't think I can take another breath. Because the baby, it's blue eyes wide open, has the same sparkle of it's mother, of it's grandfather.

I read the letter quickly, a smile breaking out on my face as tears pour down my cheeks. I can tell Peeta wrote this letter by his steady, neat handwriting. The baby's name is Avaleh. She was born a few days ago, healthy and developed. She is a lovely baby, who looks exactly like Katniss. Or so Peeta says, only because he never knew Rodrick. She looks like Rodrick, this little child, this little Avaleh.

Inside, I sit in a lumpy chair, clutching the letter and photo in hand tightly. I examine the child closely, smiling at her rosy cheeks and round face. I look at Katniss and the look on her face, she is a mother and she has entered that world now. I smile and lean back into my chair. My eyes rest on the picture frame standing on the small table next to me. It's my wedding picture. The one that survived the bombing, that Katniss brought back to me. This one moment of happiness, this one instant of my life has survived through so much to make it all the way to here. I look so young, so strong in that picture. I can hardly remember the fear, the excitement, the happiness. Rodrick, so handsome, so confident, so _there_. Like he could never be taken from me. Because he never could. He never left me, even when I felt so alone. He has always been there.

I reach over, take the frame in hand, and open it up. Dusty and smelling like age, Juliana's and Christopher's wedding picture is almost stuck to the back of mine, but I'm able to peel it off. I can barely make out their faces, but I see the happiness in them as well. I lay that photo on the table. I'll send it to Katniss and tell her about them in my next letter.

I take the photo of Avaleh and Katniss, slide it in front of my wedding picture, and put the back onto the frame. Inside this one frame, so much happiness, so much joy, so much pain, so much loss resides. And I wouldn't change my life for anything. I wouldn't want any life other than the one I've been fortunate enough to live. I press the pictures close to my chest.

Yes, everything has been changed. But maybe not by Katniss. Everything has been changed by that boy from the Seam.

**Wow, are we done? It looks like it. Wow, it seems like yesterday this all started. Well, thank you everyone who ever read, reviewed, edited, or liked this story. I've worked really hard on it and I'm really proud. A playlist will be coming up soon to show my inspiration for the "tone" of some chapters (wow, I feel stupid for using that words). Check out my Percy Jackson fanfiction called "Aspasia Williams and the Darker Woods".**

**Thanks for ready, everybody.**

**Yours very truly,**

**Roman**


	23. Playlist

**Well, I did say I would make a playlist. I'll try and go chronologically through the story, or more like it, through Wisteria's life as it changes. After looking over this, I realize how utterly depressed Wisteria is. Wow. She needs some help.**

**P.S.- I don't know if I have to do this, but none of these artists are affiliated with me and no one is paying me to do this. Just btw's.**

THE MERCHANT LIFE

_Panic Cord –_ Gabrielle Aplin

_Holding Out for a Hero_ – Edith Adams

_Cell 29-D_ – The Weekdays*

_Lover is Childlike_ – The Low Anthem

_Dark Days_ – The Punch Brothers

_Rules_ – Jayme Dee

_Nothing to Remember_ – Neko Case

THE LOVERS' LIFE

_Cross the World_ – The War

_Everything Has Changed_ – Taylor Swift feat. Ed Sheeran

_Feel Again_ – OneRepublic

_Kiss Me_ – Ed Sheeran

_Kiss Me_ – Jason Walker

_Treacherous_ – Taylor Swift

_This is Love (from The Cinderella Waltz)_- I have no idea

_Lego House_ – Ed Sheeran

_Wanted_ – Hunter Hayes

_Animal_ – Conor Maynard

THE DARKER LIFE

_The Cave_ – Mumford & Sons

_All Too Well_ – Taylor Swift

_I Dreamed a Dream_ – Anne Hathaway

_I'm Not That Girl_ – Idina Menzel

_Winter Song – _Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson

_Drowning_ – The War

_Bottom of the River_ – Delta Rae

_Twenty Eight_ – The Weekend

_Monster_ – Kris Allen

_Heavy in Your Arms_ – Florence + the Machine

_Lying to the Mirror_ – Gabrielle Aplin

_On and On_ – Battle Victorious*

_Skyfall_ – ADELE

THE YELLOW LIFE

_Yellow_ – Coldplay

_Small Bump_ – Ed Sheeran

_Someone Like You_ – ADELE

_Wake Me Up_ – Ed Sheeran

_I Will Wait –_ Mumford & Sons

_Stay Stay Stay_ – Taylor Swift

_Little Things_ – One Direction

_Home_ – Phillip Phillips

THE NOSTALGIC LIFE

_For Good_ – Idina Menzel & Kristin Chenoweth

_The Last Time_ – Taylor Swift feat. Gary Lightbody

_On My Own_ – Samantha Barks

_Empty Chairs at Empty Tables_ – Eddie Redmayne

_Parting Glass_ – Ed Sheeran

_Tomorrow Will Be Kinder_ – The Secret Sisters

Just a Game – Birdy

* - **these are the bands that I actually know some people in them personally (though they have no idea that I'm referring to them right now) so it'd be awesome if you would check them out.**

**So, my Percy Jackson fanfiction is up and running now. It's called, "Aspasia Williams and the Darker Woods". Go check it out. Also, request a follow on Twitter reallyuseawish**

**See ya later, baby child.**


End file.
